Mala's Games
by UnpublishedWriter
Summary: Mala, Zoltar's sister, kidnaps Chief Anderson and tortures him sexually. Dr. Huang and Detective Benson are called in to help him, and G-Force, deal with the after-effects. Warning: Mature content, sexual assault.
1. Chapter 1

Mala nâl Afés'trin swiped a ridged potato chip through the sour-cream-and-chive dip on Anderson's naked chest, popped it into her mouth. "You know," she said, running her fingernails down his abdomen, "I was prepared to be disappointed."

He did not reply, partly to annoy her, and partly because he did not trust himself to keep his voice steady.

She chuckled, the sort of throaty laugh that could send a man wild in other circumstances. "I knew I might find a hollow-chested geek under that suit. Instead" - she traced between the muscles - "I find a man who needs not be ashamed at the beach." Not a hardbody like his little birds, but more than adequate for her purposes. She cast her eyes further down. Quite adequate.

Picking out another chip, she murmured, "Want one?"

He ignored her.

"Do you know why you're here?"

_I have a pretty good idea. _He was naked and chained to a bed, with a Spectra assassin using him for a dip bowl. This was not standard Spectran interrogation practice. And she had good reason to wish him harm.

"You asked me out to dinner on the Solar Express. I thought I would take you up on the offer." From a table beside the bed, she took a glass of what looked like champagne.

Oh, shit. He suddenly preferred Mark teasing him about that very invitation. _She'd said she was in public relations. Neither of us had any idea she was Spectra._

What was he, then? Her guest, the entrée, or both?

"Of course, it may not be quite what you had in mind." A sip of bubbly, then another chip. "Your flock has done us considerable damage. I will have my revenge on you, and on them."

She stretched, and it was as if she turned a switch. If she'd been beautiful before, she was a succubus now, more desirable than any woman he had ever known. "We can do this two ways, you know." A predatory smile. "Of course, you will never choose the easy way, and I find the hard way much more satisfying." A glance. "No pun intended. Before I am through, your mind will be as cooperative as certain parts of your body." Her hand toyed with said parts.

He fought the desire to yank against the restraints. These weren't toys for the BDSM crowd. There was no safety word. Once she started on him, there would be no stopping until he was dead or broken. No true pleasure, only humiliation, pain, and torment. Any respite would be so that he could survive the next round. Unless he could get loose, he could only resist by not doing anything.

"Hm. I seem to be out of dip." She removed the bowl of chips, leaned over, and licked the remains of her snack from his skin. With consummate skill, she worked her way up his chest to his neck, her lips and tongue finding all the most sensitive spots. When she reached his jaw, she nipped hard with her teeth and straightened up. Blood dribbled from her mouth, which she took care of with a truly amazing lingual gyration. He doubted the lead singer of KISS could have managed it. "Not a peep. Barely a conscious twitch," she said, approvingly. "It will be my great pleasure to break you in front of the world."

Cameras. He should have known. Mere captivity would not give Spectra the psychological advantage they desired. Seeing him tortured, then broken, made into (however temporarily) a Spectra slave, would do as much damage to the Federation psyche as a hundred mecha attacks.

And the hell of it was that some people would not initially realize what they saw. They'd think it a download from a kinky website that some hacker had sent them. When they did realize it, they would be hooked to their screens, like spectators at a traffic accident.

She gripped his face in her hands and kissed him, biting his mouth and chin. "Keep fighting, Anderson," she whispered. "I can assure you that you will lose."

The intercom burred. "Mala, this is Z'ólt'ár. Report."

Reluctantly, she released him. "My leader calls me."

He glared at her.

"Hold that thought, lover." She wondered if Z'ólt'ár was watching the delayed-stream right now.

She didn't bother to turn off whatever mojo she had. As she headed out of the room, Anderson could only grit his teeth. He had to maintain his emotional and mental control.

_Don't look around wildly. Don't seem desperate. That will please Spectra and demoralize the Federation's peoples._

He turned his head carefully, scanning for the cameras and the microphones. There would be several cameras, he was sure, to catch every second of hell. Yet he could not see so much as a pinhole out of place.

The restraints were solid, carefully fitted to his wrists and ankles, padded so that he would not bruise too easily. Just enough chain to rattle, but not enough to allow him to reach anything from the bed. Even if he somehow got hold of a key, he could not reach the lock of either manacle.

She, and Spectra, knew him too well. No doubt they had scanned him for everything and anything that G-Force could use to locate him, and either removed or shielded those items. Nor could he pretend to acquiesce so that she would release him. The creator of G-Force, the designer of the _Phoenix_ and the Fiery Phoenix effect, was not one to wimp out because a woman chained him to the bed.

He tasted blood where she had bitten him, felt it run from the wounds on his chin. This was about as sexy as a traffic accident, but there were those who would think otherwise, even if he were rescued tonight. They would think he had wanted this attack.

* * *

Enjoying the reactions of all and sundry, Mala walked down the hallway to her office. She turned on the viewscreen, and smiled at her over-eager superior and brother. "Good afternoon."

As she sat, Z'ólt'ár nâl Afés'trin crossed his legs and flipped a bit of cape over his lap into the bargain. She might be his sister, but she was hotter than a white dwarf (in more ways than one). No wonder the Luminous Spirit had a disembodied jones for her. "Did I interrupt anything?" The time-delay on the feed made him curious.

"Nothing yet. Nothing that couldn't wait. Anderson can stew."

"So, how long?"

"I'm not you. I like to play with my toys for a while. This one is especially pretty. If I can manage it, I'd like to keep it a little longer than usual."

"Careful. G-Force and Federation forces are looking for him right now." In the meantime, the propaganda value of her games would be invaluable.

"I know how to kidnap a man." She licked a bit of something from the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps you should set up a payment account. This could be not only useful, but profitable."

That tongue. Her greatest weapon, after her skill with actual weapons. "Perhaps I should order you back to your task." He wanted Anderson broken _now_.

"You are so impatient, Z'ólt'ár. There's much to be said for taking things slowly. Have you ever stopped to think how satisfying it is to watch your victim anticipate all possible fates, and their efforts to avoid those fates? To strip away their hope and options, until you are all that remains? When you have the Eagle and the Swan, you will want to enjoy every moment." She smiled. "Which would be the more satisfying: the Swan screaming your name in passionate desire, or in defiance, while the Eagle watches? Or, to turn her defiance into desire in front of him?"

His eyes glazed over as he imagined what he would do to the Swan. That feathered bitch deserved every bit of it, and more. How much better if she begged for and wanted it. Security Chief Anderson and the G-Force slut, playthings of Spectra. "Mala, do what you have to do."

"I will." She unfolded from the chair. "In high-definition and full color. In another hour, I think you will have something to attend to, yourself. Patricia, the new girl, is especially capable of assisting you." She turned off the viewscreen.

He _already_ had something to attend to. One day, he would have time for a lot of that sort of business. And his own little swan, at least for a while.

* * *

The swishes of the door opening and closing broke Anderson's chain of thought. He refused to look towards the doorway, and struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"Miss me?" she asked, her voice a purr that would arouse a statue. "I think you did." A brief, maddening caress of his genitals.

The soft sound of clothing falling to the floor. She straddled him, yanked his head up so that he had to see her. "You will learn who is in charge, here, Anderson. By the end of the week, you will beg for my touch."

"Like - hell, bitch."

She laughed, a sound at once terrifying and stimulating. "They all say that, at the beginning." _Although he might not be wrong. It may take me until next Monday to break him._

He glowered at her. _Get a little closer. You aren't the only one with teeth._

_

* * *

_

At Center Neptune, 7-ZARK/7 intercepted an Internet signal. It screeched and shut down a full second later, unable to process the information. The feed automatically shunted to IT.

"Holy shit!" Livingstone, the on-duty IT tech, yelled. He slammed fully awake and forward in his chair. Around him, people looked up. Several snorted at the image on the large screen.

"Damn it," Bailey griped. "You know the rules. No porn while on duty."

"That's not a porno! That's _Anderson!_"

That got their attention.

Livingstone tore his horrified attention from the screen to the keyboard. A few keystrokes later, he knew the important things. _Those Spectra bastards have him. They're bouncing that feed from everywhere and a few other places so we can't trace it easily._ His fingers flew. _They don't know that I was the best damned hacker in the States. And I still have contacts. If I can't find the source, they will._

"Don't let G-Force see this," Bailey ordered. "They're just kids. They don't need that image in their heads."

"And who do you think will be running the rescue?" Sylvester asked.

"Cronus. I don't care how many procedures and protocols I have to ignore to get hold of him. G-Force can't see this. It'll kill them."

* * *

Except that G-Force also had computers.

Tiny held down Jason as Princess hustled Keyop away. Mark got on the horn to IT: "G-Force Commander to Bailey." His even, dead, voice said everything.

"Yes, sir, we know about it, sir. We're tracing the feed. It's bouncing around like a pachinko ball. Livingstone shut down three lines, and there wasn't even a burp in the stream."

"Who's receiving it?"

"Anyone with a computer, sir, it seems. Give me some time to find out what and how they're doing this." A beat. "Sir…."

"We'll find him." _I'll let Jason shoot a missile right into that pixilated monster._

Eventually, Jason quieted down. He trembled with barely-controlled rage.

"What can we do?" Tiny asked plaintively. "We don't know where he is."

"We can help find him, help shut down that stream."

His communicator blipped. "Mark, it's Princess. Keyop's really upset. He can't even make those noises. I'll stay with him for a while, maybe sedate him. I think I can trace that stream without either of us seeing or hearing what's on it."

"Okay. We'll do what we can, too."

* * *

The streaming video appeared on every computer with any link to the Internet. Around the world, hackers turned from causing trouble to tracing the route. They enjoyed their pranks and crimes, but Spectra was an enemy they could not tolerate, and _this_ was over the line.

Shutting down the servers would have stopped the feed, but also would have shut down the world's economy and prevented them discovering the source. Instead, the technicians also got down to the business of isolating the signal.

By the time President Kane received a preliminary report, the improvised army of hackers and programmers had been at work for several hours.

"Multiple paths simultaneously," Bailey said. "That's why we're having trouble tracing it. Any given hub is receiving and sending that damned thing from and to at least three others. We can't find the one place that's sending, but not receiving."

"Who the hell is sending us some of these results?" Sylvester asked.

"All my former friends and competitors," Livingstone announced. "These guys hate Spectra as much as you do."

"Who is watching this shit?"

"The sort of people who subscribe to sex sites that will give you uncensored footage of someone's head being blown apart by a shotgun blast. If we could get them to stop, we might have a chance of quickly tracing the feed."

Bailey shook his head. "Good luck on that. And we already have bloggers disputing that he's a prisoner." The same batch of fools who had nasty things to say about both Spectra and G-Force just had to weigh in on Anderson's predicament. He was not surprised, but he was annoyed and distressed.

* * *

Anderson's body heaved as he came. A strangled moan made it past his clenched jaws, but he refused to say even a word.

Mala held onto him, riding him to her own climax. He was everything she had expected: defiant, strong, spirited, a challenge to her skills. A worthy opponent.

_I _do_ want to keep this one for a while_. Not just to play with, either. His intelligence, drive, and spirit could be of benefit to the nâl Afés'trin line. Z'ólt'ár had yet to produce an heir, even a bastard (as far as she could find out). It might be up to her to produce the next Emperor, and the human beneath her had the qualities needed to rule.

And, after he had been molded to her will and his knowledge and insights used to Spectra's advantage, there were the lonely nights he could ease for her. Until she tired of him, or he slid further into the mental abyss that could accompany enslaving him.

"You should be honored," she whispered, lying beside him. "I don't usually enjoy myself so much." Gentle caresses, like a lover. "You're quite satisfying." She had never sought personal pleasure from her other victims.

She had hurt him, caused him pain. Now for the gentleness, the recovery time that would enhance the torment for the next round. The reward for his desired behavior. Teach him the association. Teach him to want her.

* * *

Damn. He'd read the reports of the testimony from debriefed prisoners. She knew how to break men and women. Sex was but one of her techniques.

Torture was only part of it. The lights in the room had never even dimmed. No clocks anywhere. No sense of time passing. How long had it taken her to rape him? A half-hour? An hour? Before that, how long had she tormented him?

How long had he been unconscious before waking up to dip and chips? A few hours? A few days?

Spectra had drugs that could put a person out for anywhere from minutes to hours, and the victim could not tell how much time had passed. Had he been given those drugs since waking?

She'd used the stick, and now for the carrot. He knew what she was doing, and that it was only a matter of time before he submitted. Would he break, or bend? Would she have a gibbering, incoherent victim, or would he betray everyone and everything he held dear?

He had not had to urinate or defecate since awakening. They must have cleaned him out while he was unconscious.

* * *

Police forces around the world had finding Anderson on their list. They could not devote a lot of time and resources, given that most were overloaded, but they tried.

No clues in the video stream. A closed room, without windows or any identifiable furnishings. Probably in a Spectra facility somewhere.

The best they could hope was to stumble across it. They all knew they'd find Jimmy Hoffa's body before they'd find the one particular base in time to rescue Anderson.

The blogosphere and cable channels were abuzz. There were those who blamed the Federation for the war with Spectra, and others who disliked (even hated) the idea of membership. Earth had not been a founding member of the Federation. Humans were just another species, not the center of the universe.

Some managed to blame G-Force. Their logic was convoluted, since they didn't want to seem to say that beating Spectra was a bad thing.

And this was the first day.

* * *

"We've lost it. They're not sending it out," Livingstone said. "Let's take the opportunity to set up a trace. She'll be back. Just maybe, we can get a clue when they resume."

* * *

Princess had sedated Keyop during the broadcast. The little guy was such a terror in a fight, and so good at his other duties, that she had long forgotten that he was almost a baby in many important ways. He'd gotten enough of a look at the screen to shut him down. A night's sleep would do him good.

Her fingers hurt. Like everyone in the IT and cyber-warfare units, she had been hours at her computer. She didn't want to rest, but knew she had to. Otherwise, she could miss a vital piece of information when that Spectra bitch resumed broadcasting.

Soft breeps and doots announced Keyop's awakening. She sat beside him on the bed, and he crawled into her lap. "It's okay," she said.

"Princess?" A few sad noises. "Why?"

"To break him, honey. They want to hurt him so much that he can't lead us anymore."

"_Broop_ - strong."

"Yes, he is." How to explain what was happening to Anderson so that he would understand, but not be damaged, himself? "But even the strongest have a breaking point. That's what they're trying to find."

"They won't - _doot_ - find it."

_I hope so._

_

* * *

_

The second day began with breakfast. For her. Once again, he was the table.

That was the least painful part of the day.

* * *

"You seem to have dislocated your shoulder," Mala observed. "I can put it back in its place, or I can leave it as is." With spurious gentleness, she stroked his face. "Which shall it be?"

_Just kill me, you beast._

"Mother always told me to take care of my things, and you can't possibly appreciate my skill if you're hurting." He couldn't do anything to her, not in his condition. "I did ride you rather hard, poor dear. It may be time for another break. I do have a day job."

She unchained his injured arm. "This will only hurt for a little bit."

That was the one true thing she'd said in he didn't know how long. After she re-seated his shoulder, she bound his arm properly, then loaded a syringe. "Can't have you getting any ideas, pet." At his expression, she said, "It's a mild paralytic. It won't harm you."

Paralytic? She hadn't used one before. What about - ?

"You haven't made a mess, yet, so don't worry on that score. Don't worry about that at all. I like clean toys." She murmured in his ear: "We took care of that while you were unconscious yesterday." A teasing lick along the outer edge.

How thoughtful.

She turned off the incredible sexuality. Without it, he doubted she could have raped him even once. Playful bondage did not interest him, never mind this.

"Just like yesterday, you will have privacy for your recovery," she whispered, breath tickling. "The feed will end when I leave this room." She would have the medics hook up the intravenous fluids in a little bit.

_Gee, thanks._

_

* * *

_

"Fuck!" Z'ólt'ár couldn't have gotten off the bed if the Eagle were standing over him with a castrating knife. A rusty, dull castrating knife.

"I thought that's what we were doing." The extremely skilled new assassin pouted, but her eyes smiled. She dismounted and stretched out beside him.

"With gusto, my dear." To think that he'd despaired when he found out that this assassin, Patricia Hayes, was a mousy little thing. The little mouse had exquisite claws. A day and a half of exquisite claws. He could be poured into a bucket.

"Thank you, sir."

He rolled over onto his side to look at the screen. "She broke her toy," he commented. "But not beyond repair."

"Is that a good thing, sir?" The little mouse did something very nice down his spine with her tongue and fingers.

"If you knew how long I've waited for this, you would know the answer." Mala was right: the result was worth the extra time. He could see it in Anderson's face. No man was so strong that he could resist that sort of humiliation for long. Allowing him time to rest and recover would only make his surrender the sweeter. "Look at him. He hates her, and he wants to kill her. He's had several orgasms, to his disgust. And he can't do a thing about it. He has no say in the matter. She has the upper hand. She can do whatever she wants, and he can't stop her." He reached behind him and grabbed his bedmate's hands, rolled over on top of her. "Unlike me. Except that I don't want you to stop." And proceeded to prove it.

* * *

Again the feed ended. Livingstone wanted to reach through the screen. He wanted to throw things.

They'd narrowed the country of origin to the contiguous United States. Two days of work had netted only that. They needed more.

"I hate to think of the Chief going through that shit," Bailey said. "At this rate, he'll be a basket case before we can even find out what city he's in." He heaved a sigh. "Any word on 7-ZARK/7?"

"Refuses to respond to commands. Just moans about the Chief's situation before shutting down." Again and again. Nobody wanted to go up there anymore.

"Hell. We might have to send Princess to sweet-talk it. SUSAN is just as useless." When they worked right, both of the damn things could find a needle in a shielded haystack on Riga. Who had the bright idea for robot personalities, anyway?

* * *

Tiny watched Jason smolder. There were times he was scared of his teammate. Right now, he was terrified. If someone called with Anderson's location right now, Jason would probably beat the _Phoenix_ out of base. God help whoever got in his way.

For the past two days, Jason had worked on every piece of equipment in his arsenal. Tiny was certain that none of it had worked that well when new.

What was Jason's particular beef? Anderson had raised them all, although Mark was the closest to a son he had. It had lately seemed to Tiny that Jason was in competition with Mark for Anderson's attention. Probably just the result of having two strong personalities in the #1 and #2 positions on the team. Once they got the Chief back, they could resolve this.

_We need him. He's all we have for a parent_. Although Tiny cared for the Harpers, even considered them his parents, he thought of Anderson the same way.

They were all orphans in one way or the other. Jason had lost everyone in a Spectra attack on a colony world. That would put a chip on anyone's shoulder. Jason wanted to destroy Spectra every time they fought. Mark knew better than to go all-out in each battle.

And speaking of Mark: their Commander was in a state and a half. His usual outlet, flying, was denied him here at Center Neptune. Like Jason, he had put his energies into his equipment, and was now perched in the training room, waiting.

_And I already keep the _Phoenix_ in tip-top shape. I guess that's why I end up cooling my heels all the time._ Not that he minded. He'd like to be out of a job.

Right now, they had to get Anderson back.

* * *

Z'ólt'ár decided to send out several mecha, to take advantage of Anderson's captivity. The moment the feed resumed, five mecha launched, to attack five separate locations. "In your face, G-Force."

* * *

Bailey swore. "Livingstone, keep tracing that video stream. The rest of you, take over for that catatonic egg." He took a chair beside Livingstone. "Spectra just screwed up. Two of the damn things are hitting the U.S."

Whenever mecha attacked, regional servers shut down to prevent damage to computer networks and associated systems. Many networks themselves were taken off-line to protect data. The shut-downs meant fewer routes to shunt through, and would increase the chances of finding the source of the feed.

"If they hit the right part of the U.S. Damn, I never thought I'd say anything like that."

The informal army of hackers, geeks and IT professionals went to work.

* * *

"Feeling better?" Mala asked. She removed the intravenous lines from Anderson's arms. "You must be hungry."

_I know this game. Don't try it._

"You know how this is supposed to play out, so let's not waste time. I offer food, you accept, I tell you that you have to earn it, and you get to watch me eat. Or, I offer food, you tell me what I can do with it, I get angry and hurt you." She rested her forehead against his. "In the movie version, I do something stupid so that you can get your hands on me." A light kiss on his nose before standing.

He'd already tried to bite her. Gotten a good grip on an earlobe during one of those attempts, and she'd wrung him like a dishrag. Unless he could rip her throat out, that was not going to work.

"You are such a marvelous dining platter. Let's find out what else I can eat off of you."

He would not put it past her to serve something hot, requiring a sharp knife and a fork. That would be the least of today's torture.

She moved his arm out of the way. "You still aren't quite ready to be chained again. It doesn't matter. Those restraints will keep you in place."

Contrary to movies and television, re-seating a dislocated shoulder did not immediately restore use of the injured limb, and there was danger of injuring it further. He was as effectively restrained as before she'd hurt him.

Dinner was chicken fingers and French fries.

* * *

"Well," Z'ólt'ár said. "I was expecting something with nice, hot, gravy."

"Rather conventional use of mustard," Patricia said.

"She's just getting started. Wait until she turns on the sex."

"I was wondering why you were the only one I was drooling over, sir. Whoa!"

"And that's over the feed. When you're in the same room, it's overpowering." He still didn't remember much about that time she'd had to trank him a couple years back.

The two watched Mala start on Anderson. "Damn, she's good. No wonder she doesn't need mechanical aids," the assassin said.

"You're pretty good yourself." Today, he wouldn't wait until he was worked up.

* * *

Military forces met the mecha attacks. Nobody waited for G-Force to appear. The team could not be in five places at once.

Captain Cronus and his squadron dealt with the mecha that attacked Riga.

The other two attacks were on the colony worlds of New Germany and New India. Federation forces were dispatched immediately.

The _Phoenix_ launched. G-Force did not hold back. TBX Missiles shredded the mecha attacking St. Louis, Missouri, and the Fiery Phoenix hurtled scrap into Lake Erie.

* * *

"We have it!" Livingstone yelled, six hours after the feed started. "The city of origin."

"Where?" Bailey poised his fingers.

"Prairie du Chien?" He shook his head. "Of all the places…."

"Why not there? Hit at the American myth of the wholesome heartland, besides the harm done to Anderson." Bailey went to work.

With the city identified, they focused on finding the source.

* * *

The _Phoenix_ was gearing up to fly to New India when IT learned Anderson's location. Since the Federation forces were actually holding their own, G-Force was dispatched to the rescue.

They weren't subtle. Princess and Keyop blew the doors off the place and drove inside, Mark and Jason as passengers. Tiny held the Phoenix overhead, blasting the jets at the goons who tried to counter-attack.

Once in the base, the four birds went on the hunt.

* * *

Mala sighed as the alarms started. "Too bad. It was fun while it lasted." She dressed. "You know, Z'ólt'ár saw every minute of this."

Oh, hell.

"He saw every last, full color, high definition second of our time together. As did the world."

He should have known that Z'ólt'ár would watch this. Freed prisoners had told of Z'ólt'ár's unusual tastes.

"You know the drill," she said, pointing to an LED display on the wall. "G-Force attacks, and we destroy the base. Your flock has ten minutes to find and rescue you."

Ten minutes? How large was this base?

"See you later, lover. And there _will_ be a later, if I know your team." She trotted out the door.

* * *

"Shit!" Z'ólt'ár and the assassin snapped, for different reasons. The leader of Spectra untangled himself from his companion. "Basic emergency procedures, just in case. They're going to be angry." They were on another planet, but one never knew.

Patricia pulled on her jumpsuit. "It won't be a total loss, sir. If I know my species, that will be on the Web forever. He'll never escape it."

He laughed. "I'd forgotten that."

* * *

Jason and Mala almost literally ran into each other. "You!" he snarled, drawing his gun. "Where is he?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," she sang-taunted as she dodged his shots, then closed in.

"Damn you, bitch, what did you do with him? Where is he?" _He'd better be alive, bitch._

They grappled, giving no quarter to each other. Just as Jason was about to shoot her in the gut, she twisted his arm aside and said, "So that's how it is, eh, Condor?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know. And you have four minutes to rescue him."

With a snarl, he threw her aside. _I can do this, I can do this._ Check down the hallway she'd come from.

* * *

On another level, Mark kicked in door after door. "Chief! Where are you?"

He'd killed or injured every goon that crossed his path, after asking for Anderson's location. None of them knew, and all of them had smirked.

"Chief!"

A hoarse voice responded. "Mark? Mark, here!"

At a half-open door, he hesitated. Then he pushed it open. "Oh, shit, Chief." He threw his 'rang, cutting the restraints. "Chief." He picked Anderson up, shrouding him with his wings. The man hung an arm around his neck and buried his face in Mark's shoulder.

He called the others as he ran for the exit: "I found him. Let's get out of here."

They lost thirty seconds when Mark insisted Keyop ride pillion with Princess while he and Jason carried Anderson in the buggy. No way was he going to let the boy see this, and they had no time to waste. "You drive," Jason insisted. "I'll do something stupid and wreck us." He sat on the buggy floor, wings and arms wrapped around Anderson, glowering protectively at the world.

_What did she do to you? What did that bitch do?_ This wasn't right, he should not be holding Anderson like this, should not be looking at blood and bruises and bite marks and knowing that only willpower was keeping their founder and leader from crying tears of shame and humiliation. Not like this, never like this. "She's dead," he whispered hoarsely. "Next time I see her, I'll kill her. Slowly."

"No."

"Why not?" He could see the reasons in blood.

"We're better than that."

_I don't care. That bitch hurt you and she knows how I feel about you and she_ has to die for what she did.

They made it to the _Phoenix_ just seconds before the base exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

There are plenty of resources for victimized women. Even with lingering false beliefs about rape, it's easier for a woman to find and ask for help than it is for a man. Men are supposed to be able to take care of themselves. No one beats or rapes a man, unless it's in prison.

So it took a while to find a therapist with the necessary combination of credentials and security clearance to help both Anderson and G-Force. During that time, Anderson recuperated from his physical injuries. His mental injuries remained. People would find him roaming the corridors of Center Neptune at all hours, more like a ghost than a living man, flinching away if he met a woman, unable to meet men's eyes. To no one's surprise, only Princess could spend any time with him. She was his ward. He knew her. He was safe with her.

The hackers and geeks who had helped find Anderson turned their attention to Spectra. The peaceful six months following the rescue were caused entirely by a steady stream of Trojans, viruses, worms, and other software-based mayhem generated by very angry people. Spectra was too busy to cause any trouble.

These same hackers and geeks also scoured every computer network they could find, looking for so much as a pixel from Mala's torture porn. Unlike the fools who saved and rebroadcast the images, they understood Spectra's motives. This wasn't a joke, or a tryst gone awry, to be chuckled over later. This was propaganda.

A month and a half after Anderson's rescue, Federation Security finally found a doctor who met their qualifications and who was available. Dr. George Huang, an FBI psychiatrist attached to the NYPD's Special Victims Unit.

* * *

"If it ever happened, we thought it would happen to one of us," Mark said. He sat wrapped in his wings. "We're on the front lines. Each one of us has been stupid enough to go it alone. Of course, we also imagined more in the line of six goons holding one of us down while the seventh cured our constipation. Not being tied down and mounted by a mutant alien."

Doctor Huang merely listened. He was still trying to figure out how to deal with adolescent superheroes.

"It wasn't supposed to happen to him. Chief Anderson is - well, Chief Anderson. He brought us together and made us into G-Force. He's our center. He's the one who stays sane while we act like super-powered brats.

"When he disappeared, we thought it was a typical Spectra kidnap. They snatch him, we try to find him, Z'ólt'ár insults us, we trace the transmission, find the base, kick ass, and bring Anderson home.

"And then the streaming video appeared. We all freaked. None of us watched. We saw enough to know that it was him, and he was in trouble." He clenched his fists. "We couldn't help him. We couldn't find him. We weren't there when he needed us."

"You did find him, Commander. You rescued him."

"You didn't see him. He looked so helpless." _He held onto me as if he were a child. That's not how it works._ "He wasn't the Chief. He was a victim of Spectra."

"You see him as a father figure?"

"He raised me after my father died."

"At the best of times, it's hard to deal with the knowledge that your parents are merely mortal. I won't insult you by pretending to know how you felt when you rescued him. The thing is, I can't say anything that you don't already know is true."

"Yeah. But I have to talk to someone, and the others are having trouble with this." _Jason's gotten all weird, Keyop won't talk to anyone but Princess, and Tiny spends all his time tinkering with the _Phoenix_._

"We had met that bitch on the Solar Express, when she and her assassins tried to kill him and make it look like a terrorist act. We thought she was a reporter. The Chief asked her out to dinner. I teased him about dating a Spectra agent. Now, it's not so funny."

_Christ_, the doctor thought. _They're going to have a tougher time of it than I thought._ "You shouldn't feel guilty about that. I know that military personnel have a rude sense of humor. You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"Knowing that and _knowing_ that are two different things."

* * *

Anderson sat on the large couch in his office, arms around his drawn-up legs, looking at the ocean outside the glass. A protective posture.

"I've tried to work, but I can't concentrate. Unidentified sounds terrify me. If I've rolled onto my back during my sleep, when I wake up, I expect to find I dreamed my rescue. I can't sleep through the night, unless it's in a chair or on a couch." He indicated the window. "Ironic, huh? I can't leave this place, I'm afraid to leave, and it's filled with the sights and sounds that make me nervous."

"You don't seem afraid right now."

"It's better some days than others. When everything is busy, and there are people everywhere, I'm okay.

"I'm careful. I was careful that day, yet they got to me. Stunned me. I woke up chained to that bed, bare-ass naked, my chest shaved. Mala poured dip on my chest, and had a snack.

"When it comes to sex, I'm pretty vanilla." He ran a hand through his hair. "Being chained down is not my style. I was limp as a rag until she - I can't describe it, really. It makes no sense."

"You were aroused, but not willingly. It happens, sometimes, to men under that sort of stress."

"Not to me. Not even when I know it's acting." Shuddering, he put his head on his arms. "But it wasn't like that at all. I could handle that, I think. It was incredible. She went from beautiful-but-loathsome to desirable in an eye-blink. All I could do was refuse to talk to her and keep my expression neutral. Otherwise, I had no control. None at all.

"She knew what she was doing, too, with her hands and mouth. Pain. Lots of pain, precisely applied, followed by - I can't call it pleasure, because it was against my will. I came. I had orgasms. No whips, no tools of any sort. She said that ball gags and leather were passé. Christ."

Silence for several minutes.

"I can't be near women. I might find one attractive. For a long time, I could barely touch myself down there, even out of necessity. I still make it quick.

"Princess is the only woman I can stand. I raised her from girlhood.

"A few weeks ago, I almost made a pass at her. Because she was safe, and I was hurting, and I wanted comfort and someone, something, good. And Princess might have let me have her, out of kindness and compassion. But it would not have been good. It would have had _her_ filthy fingerprints all over it, and it would have been wrong in so many other ways.

"I understated a little while ago. About finding a woman attractive."

Huang waited. He had an idea what Anderson would tell him.

"I know some of the women here. Colleagues, and some of them would like to be more than colleagues." Guilt and pain in eyes and face. "A few times, while with a woman, discussing work, I've wanted to just _take_ her. It's wrong, I know it's wrong, yet I've been sorely tempted at least twice."

"The important thing is that you did not act on the temptation." The temptation to regain his control by taking away another's.

"I know that, and it doesn't help the feelings. In some ways, it's like with Princess. They're safe, they aren't _her_. And some of them might not fight me, or report me even if they did fight." That hurt as much as what that beast had done to him.

"She didn't take all your control from you, then."

"_She took enough_. And half the Federation saw it happen." Some planets weren't into the voyeuristic habits of Terrans. "I expect to lose my position. There are enough people clucking and whispering now that Mala and Z'ólt'ár could make a speech exonerating me of responsibility and I would still be compromised. Appearance is far too important."

Loss of control, in more ways than one. A delicate subject. "I think you could argue that removing you would be exactly what Spectra wants."

"I thought of that. But how can I convince anyone? I don't know that my removal would jeopardize the Federation, or its security. It might not matter one way or the other, in which case they _will_ pick appearances."

"I'm certain we can think of something together. I've helped others through similar situations, although none of them have been so high in any government - local, state, federal or the Federation - as you are."

Silence.

"How are you getting along with your male colleagues?"

"They don't know what to say. This isn't some embarrassing-yet-funny anecdote about spiked Christmas punch and mistletoe, or whatever. It was rape, and they know they would not have fared any better.

"The team's reeling. You know that. I never realized before how much they depended on me, or I on them. Once Z'ólt'ár figures that out, he'll change his tactics. The man's a lunatic, not stupid."

"Then you should make certain he does not know how much damage that creature did to you." That was hardly neutral. But then, this was a man he'd respected and admired for years. No way was Z'ólt'ár getting one over on the Federation.

"That's why you're here. And why we aren't chasing the hackers the way we usually do. I think they're why Spectra hasn't attacked. Too busy de-worming their computers." Anderson had a sudden image of deworming 1-ROVER/1. It looked rather like deworming a regular dog, but with little bits of binary code coming out the other end. He clamped on the snicker.

"What was funny?"

"Classified."

Anderson looked out at the ocean. _We can work through this. We can survive this. I have to believe it, I have to make it come true, for all our sakes_.

* * *

"You won't be able to talk with Keyop," Princess said. "Whenever he thinks about it, he can barely make his usual noises, never mind words."

"We're here for you, right now. Your little brother can wait. I know you're carrying a heavier load than the others." Too other-directed right now. She had to know it was okay to tell them that she needed her own time and space every once in a while.

"I worry about him. I worry about all of them. This isn't as if we lost a fight or an engagement. When that happens, we come back here, lick our wounds, analyze what happened, figure out how we screwed up, and move on." She idly played with her yo-yo.

"Um, is that loaded?"

"It's not primed." Just to make him sweat, she walked the dog and went around the world before putting it up. "I couldn't resist."

"You still have a sense of humor. Good."

"I don't remember a time without Anderson. He's always been in my life, it seems. He's my father in my heart. I'd always hoped he'd find someone, and I could have a mother, too."

The doctor waited.

"I didn't have a chance to see him when we reached the _Phoenix_. I was keeping Keyop distracted. I remember blood, and not much else.

"They called me to the hospital ward. He was curled up, barely able to move, unresponsive to anyone unless they tried to touch him. Then he'd fight. His wrists and ankles were bruised, and there were bloody marks all over his body. No-one could even examine him until I calmed him down. He was too much like a frightened child. It scared me."

"A role reversal."

"Yes. I've tried to tell myself that it was simply my turn to help him, but it doesn't work."

"I suppose not. It's not as if he has a bad cold or a ski injury."

"That was last year. Both. He had plenty of nurses." A sad, indulgent, smile.

"I got so worried when I found out he was wandering the base. I thought he was losing his mind, or that Spectra had done something else to him when the feed wasn't running.

"I ran into him on one of his wanderings. He looked so miserable, so lost, that I just walked with him, trying to figure out why he was doing this. What I wanted to do was take him someplace safe, where he could never be hurt, where he would not have to relive those memories time and time again. Because he was trying to escape the memories by wandering around. That was all he could do.

"He's the one who helps us. Gives us the daddy lectures when we need them, and the 'I'm your boss' lectures, and keeps us from tearing the place down." She wrapped her wings around her. "Like you said, 'role reversal.' And I don't like it one bit.

"Maybe he told you about this. It's a sign of how that Spectra whore hurt him. A few weeks ago, we were talking, and he suddenly said, 'I think you should leave, now.' The expression on his face was so strange. Yearning, needy, yet stern. He didn't move.

"I was so startled that I was hurt. I left, and it wasn't until I reached my room that I understood.

"He hasn't been able to stand any woman except me since he came back. The women here are afraid of scaring him, so they've dressed down and tried to avoid him. If he has to have a face-to-face conversation with one, he can barely function.

"I'm safe. He wants to get better, but he doesn't know how to do it. For that short time, he did not see me as his daughter, but as a woman. A safe woman, who would never knowingly hurt him."

"If he had pressed the issue, rather than send you away, would you have accepted?"

"I don't know. That's what has me screwed up. I've never had those thoughts about him. I can't imagine it without a shudder. But when I remember how he looked, how much he _needed_ the comfort, I can't be sure that I would have refused."

* * *

"I want to kill her. Slowly. With as much pain as possible," Jason said. "It won't help him. It won't help me. But I want to, anyway. My gun has attachments. _Toolbox Murders 2: Condor's Revenge_. That's how angry I am."

"If she were here, right now, would you?"

"No. Because he would not want that. Because we are not Spectra. We don't chain people to beds and rape them. We don't torture. We don't slaughter thousands and then laugh about it." He trembled. "And because I would enjoy it too much. It would still be her victory."

There was more here than a young man angry over his adoptive father's suffering. "Is there anything more?"

"What more is there? I've been angry for so long I can't remember anything else. I watched Spectra soldiers slaughter my family, rape my mother and sisters to death while my father and I were forced to watch, and then shoot my father in the head. If it hadn't been for Cronus, I would have been raped and dead, also.

"I'm ashamed. He had her filthy touch still on his skin when he reminded me that we are not Spectra. The blood hadn't dried yet, and if she'd fallen into our clutches, he would have had us following the Geneva conventions and Federation protocols. He was that strong, still."

The doctor watched Jason's body language. "What did you feel when he was dependent on you for help?"

"That it was wrong. What else?" _That he should be the one cradling me in his arms after loving me, not clinging to me to keep from crying. He keeps me from falling apart, from becoming a condor in truth, not just name._

"He is the man who taught me how to fight Spectra. I never saw him as a father, but as a mentor and a teacher. A guide." _Which is how I can be in love with him and not feel odd._

_

* * *

_

"I hate to admit this, but I was glad I was aboard the _Phoenix_. I was too busy piloting her, so I didn't have to see him." Tiny rubbed his big hands over his upper arms. "I saw the way everyone else reacted, and decided I didn't want to see."

"But?"

"I knew I was being a coward. He's basically our father. He raised us, trained us, made us G-Force. Like the Three Musketeers, it's 'All for one; one for all.'"

The others had warned him that Tiny was the stereotypical big guy with the soft heart.

"When we got back here, and they took him to Medical, I followed along. I usually tend to the _Phoenix_, but I couldn't leave the Chief.

"The medics had a sheet over him, but there was still some blood seeping through and his face was streaked with it. He would close his eyes and try to curl up, then open them and stare at everything. I swear that he would have exploded at the wrong word or touch. I mean, literally, body-parts-on-the-walls exploded. I'd never been so scared in my life, and I play tag with mecha capable of destroying entire cities."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Captain Cragen stopped by Detective Benson's desk. "I have to talk to you in my office," he said.

"What's up?"

"In my office."

_What did Elliott and I do this week?_ She followed him in. "Sir?"

"Dr. Huang wants your assistance."

_He looks like he has a bomb strapped to him._ "What sort of help?"

"His temporary assignment is more difficult than he expected."

"Then why not Skoda or Olivet?"

"If they were able to, they would be there already. Apparently, they don't have the qualifications."

"Neither do I. I'm a cop, not a therapist."

"You're the only one he thinks can help. And they approved it." Cragen now looked as if the bomb was about to explode. "Pack a bag. He'll meet you in front of your apartment at three."

_I have to stop my mail and figure out how I'll pay my bills_. "How long will I be gone?"

"As long as it takes, apparently."

"Captain, where am I going?"

"He'll tell you." A beat. "I'll drive you home so you can give me your keys. I'll take care of your mail and your car. You can make arrangements about your bills and rent when you get where you're going."

He wouldn't say anything more. This was bigger than she knew.

* * *

She packed four of everything, along with toiletries, gave Cragen a copy of her keys, and was out front by three that afternoon. Dr. Huang stood beside a late-model, inconspicuous car. As she came down the steps, he opened the front passenger door.

"Where are we going?" she asked when she was seated.

"Not right now. It's too public."

_I hate it when it's too big to talk about._

She sat on her curiosity until they neared the only eight-sided building in Manhattan. Like every other passer-by, she looked up at the white façade with the double red lines, arrows pointing to earth and sky. Only when Huang turned into the parking area underneath did she know her destination.

"Christ, Huang, is this about what happened to Anderson?"

"Yes."

"Then, what can I do?"

"I'd rather wait until we get there. It's going to take a while to explain, and I don't feel comfortable doing it outside the base."

Shit. G-Force.

* * *

First, there was the parking garage, then a special entrance where Huang and two beefy Federation Security officers escorted her to a room where she was given a non-intrusive full-body scan and the results compared with the biometric data (her fingerprints and photographs) already in the database. They even took blood and analyzed it. Huang explained that Z'ólt'ár was a master of disguise, capable of seeming fully female.

The officers searched her baggage, and she thought she would have to surrender her sidearm. One asked if she wanted more ammunition for it. "You're a cop," he said. "And besides, Spectra might pay a visit." He told her that in the future, she would merely undergo a retinal and fingerprint scan.

From there, they went out another door to another part of the underground structure, directly into a closed van. Then followed a lot of time when she had nothing to do except think.

Assaulting Anderson, and putting the video online, was a new low for Spectra. It marked a change of tactics. For aliens, they knew what buttons to push.

The assault itself was damaging. Anderson was almost as admired as the G-Force team. Had that bitch succeeded in breaking him, Spectra would have won a great psychological victory. As it was, the Federation's peoples were now royally angry. Perhaps that was why Spectra had been quiet all this time: either they were afraid of a vigorous retaliation for the next attack, or they were waiting for everyone to catch on and be demoralized.

It was entirely possible that, like too many rape victims, Anderson would lose his position. Oh, his superiors would throw out a lot of excuses, but it would come down to their discomfort at having a victim in their midst, or concern over appearances, or some other bit of cowardice. It would destroy the man, and give Spectra a new weapon against the Federation.

G-Force would be reeling from this. Anderson was their founder. They were used to combat, not dealing with psychological demons.

"Doc, we're in a glorified tin can. Just tell me what I'm doing here."

"The G-Force team isn't used to seeking outside help. They rely on each other to help them through bad times."

"I'm still an outsider."

"I thought your own experiences might help them deal with theirs." At her questioning glance, he said, "I'm the professional therapist. I'm supposed to say certain things, whether I've lived them or not. You aren't the professional. Through your job, you've experienced almost everything they're going through right now, if only by proxy."

"How old are they?"

"G1 is 21. The youngest, G4, was artificially created. He's biologically 14 or 15, but isn't quite ten years old."

Artificially created? They could actually do that? "I don't know if I want to hear any more."

"You'll hear more than is comfortable. This isn't a conventional war, Olivia. G-Force isn't like a SEAL team or Ranger unit. They were selected as children, enhanced with specialized implants to increase their physical and mental capabilities, and raised and trained together for a little over ten years."

Benson did the math. "That's illegal."

"That should tell you something about the enemy. Federation Security actually got permission to do this. Apparently, the implants work best if they're placed in children."

_No wonder they're screwed up_. History had better vindicate what had been done to them. "All we ever see are the machines and the battles. I suppose we should be thankful Spectra relies on one-shot attacks." Enough of those could bring a planet to its knees.

Their transport stopped.

"Was it like this for you? All the folderol of changing vehicles and secret entrances?" she asked.

"They keep the location of Center Neptune, their operating base, closely guarded. We won't see the outside of a vehicle until we get there."

Thuds and clunks, and the back of their vehicle opened onto a stiff, corrugated tube with a folding walkway. Through there, into a room fitted with two (roomy) airline-style seats. The walls and floors had assorted clamps, cleats, removable plates, and other fittings.

"Please take your seats," said a voice over an intercom. "Welcome back, Doctor Huang. Welcome aboard, Detective Benson."

She looked in the general direction of the voice, "Thank you." To Huang: "Who was that?"

"G5. We're on the _Phoenix_."

Oh.

As they fastened their seat belts, the engines started. She'd expected them to be noisier than an airplane's, but all she heard was a low rumble. "Are we leaving Earth?" she asked.

"I don't think so. When I looked out the windows at Center Neptune, I saw Terran fish."

Reassuring and disappointing. She was curious about the other worlds of the Federation.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

G5 was a skilled pilot. She hadn't realized the _Phoenix_ had submerged until the ship docked.

"We have to wait until the water's pumped out of the docking bay," Huang said. "Expect to see G-Force in full rig. It was a couple of weeks before they stopped wearing their combat uniforms in therapy. That's how guarded they were."

Benson listened, and thought she heard the pumps, although it might have been her pulse in her ears. A side hatch opened onto another walkway.

G-Force, in full gear, waited on the dock, along with Chief Anderson. He was one of those rare people who look just like the photograph.

"Welcome to Center Neptune, Detective Benson," Anderson said, extending a hand.

"If it doesn't bother you, you can call me Olivia." She opted for the 'guy-style' handshake. "It's an honor to meet you, sir." Even with her reservations about G-Force.

"This is my team." He introduced them, using their names.

God, they were young. Young, yet with the experience of soldiers twice their age.

Mark was almost pretty, with his large blue eyes and unscarred face, but there was nothing 'pretty' about his actions. He wasted no movements, and his eyes saw everything.

Jason was handsome in a tough-guy sort of way. He was so tense that Elliott seemed Zen by comparison. _No wonder Huang wants help._

Princess was tired, Olivia saw. Tired but determined to do what she could for her teammates. _And I bet she could thrash half the SVU squad room in that state. One-handed._

Keyop was all arms and legs with knobby knees and elbows, just like a boy his apparent age could be. "Hello - _broop_ - Detective - _deet_ - Olivia?" He smiled shyly at her from beside Princess, then grinned widely.

This was the Swallow? The tiny terror of G-Force? _I should worry when he gets to know me._ "Olivia is fine."

No surprise that they called the big guy Tiny. He moved easily, even if not as gracefully as his teammates, and seemed the most laid-back. She wondered what would happen if she arranged an arm-wrestling match between him and Detective Goren (for that matter, between Princess and Detective Goren).

"Your quarters are near Dr. Huang's," Anderson said. He handed her what looked like a Dick Tracy-style wrist-radio. "There are a number of off-limits areas on this base. This will help you find your way around without incident."

"Thank you, sir." He at least was looking at and speaking to her. Perhaps because she was a stranger. She'd met a few victims who could barely speak to family and friends, but opened up to her. Maybe Huang was worrying needlessly about the team. Or, more likely, Anderson was putting forth the effort to be a good host. _If he has to do it often enough, it will help him._

"I'll show - _breep_ - her to - _doot_ - her room," Keyop volunteered.

A young woman had come in while the team was introduced. Benson noticed that she had dressed down in true 'Hollywood ugly' fashion: unattractive hairstyle, clothes the wrong color and style for her, and the sort of glasses that only the military would issue. She carried a rather mundane clipboard in her hand. At Keyop's offer, she hesitated, apparently ready to leave.

Dr. Huang said, "Maybe later, Keyop. I have to bring Olivia up to speed, and I think you're on duty."

"Bummer - _droot_. See you - _deet_ - later?"

Couldn't hurt. "When do you get off duty?"

A few noises, then, "2100."

"Okay."

He gave Jason a snarky grin, which earned him a playful tap on the visor.

The young woman handed Anderson the clipboard. He scanned and signed the papers on it, then she motioned for Benson to follow her. "I'm Rita Monahan. Welcome to our home away from home."

"How large is this place?"

"It's large enough to get lost in until you know your way around. That's one reason for the locator he gave you. If anything happened, you couldn't tell us where you were, or easily find your way back."

Benson could believe that. None of the markings on the walls made any sense to her. _I wonder how much of this is extraterrestrial technology?_ Munch would have a field day.

Her suitcase started to get heavy. Huang silently offered, and she let him take it.

The woman glanced at her, and Benson saw the doctor drop back several paces. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"What isn't wrong? The Chief put up a good front, and he's better than he was, but - It's still not right." A hand-motion from head to toe. "I dress like this because he still hurts. All the women do. It's been a little over three months, and he still jumps if he meets one of us unexpectedly. When a man can't look a friend or co-worker in the eye - That's wrong."

"He's recovering, and I know that you've heard this before, but it takes time. I know victims who recovered in a little over six months, and some who took years."

"It hit us all hard. Spectra would have done less damage killing him."

"Rape affects every relationship and all aspects of the victim's life. Everyone around the victim suffers just as much, in his or her own way. If he were merely tortured, Huang wouldn't be here. G-Force would be kicking Spectra ass. You all could deal with simple torture. There's no stigma to torture." _Except for the torturer._

"I just want it to be over. I want everything back to normal. But I guess there's no more normal, is there?"

Benson had come close to joining the ranks of victims, more than once. A hazard of the job, of being a woman in a society still influenced by dangerous definitions of masculinity and femininity. "There is a normal. But it's one that includes remembering what happened and knowing that you didn't let it beat you."

"I suppose."

"I'm going to be here a while. If you ever need to talk." She considered giving Monahan her cell number, realized that would be redundant in this place.

A watery smile. "At this rate, your whole squad will be here."

_Oh, we're not letting Elliott near this place. The poster boy for rage cannot be down here_. She loved him like a brother, but he could be damned scary. Last thing the G-Force team needed was Elliott Stabler in 'rolling boil' mode, sharing a beer with Jason. "Hey, we need to leave someone upstairs to answer the phones."

Monahan laughed. An honest, relieved laugh.

After an elevator trip and a few more corridors, she said, "Here are your quarters. It isn't much, but then, Center Neptune wasn't built to be a resort. We don't have a lot of empty rooms."

"Well, thank you for guiding me."

The young woman pulled the key out of the door and handed it to her. "It only opens that door."

"Thanks again."

"I'll show her where my rooms are," Huang said. "Thanks."

_Did she just blush?_ "You have an admirer," she whispered.

He gave her a look. "Let's get you settled, and then I'll fill you in."

* * *

Fill her in, he did. Benson returned to her room knowing more about G-Force than she had ever expected, and wishing she did not. She also had a name and a face for Anderson's attacker.

No wonder the women at Center Neptune were dressing down. Mala nâl Afés'trin made supermodels look plain, and that was just in the photographs Huang shared. Apparently, she also had some mutant or alien ability to turn up the sex appeal, confirmed by numerous prisoner reports.

_I know how I'd feel if something like that happened to Cragen. That's why Huang wanted me here._ She could empathize, and tell the cautionary tales.

She also worried.

None of them were anywhere as calm as they had appeared on the dock. Jason was the one with the gun. Last thing they needed was for him to lose it.

And the dressing down: could that be doing more harm than good? Did it remind Anderson that he'd had no control, rather than ease his mind? Were they, unwittingly, reminding him of his helplessness, harming him further?

At 2105, a knock on the door and a series of noises heralded Keyop.

When she opened the door, she didn't recognize him. He wore a mustard-yellow T-shirt with a large 4 on the front, and blue-and-white striped pants. Only his small size, and his buck-toothed grin, were familiar. "Right on time."

"_Droot_ - Of course. Always - _deet_ - punctual." He offered his arm in boyish gallantry.

He was an excellent tour guide, once she got used to his speech patterns. Whatever she wanted to know (below a certain level of classification), he could tell her. If he strutted a little, or tried to act too grown-up, no harm done. He was a boy, with a boy's interests and behaviors, even if he did have an accelerated childhood.

She tried to get a read on him. Huang had told her that the assault had so upset him that he could not even make his noises. Was he trying to communicate with her in some way, or trying to be helpful to his 'father' and team?

"Training room," he announced, opening a door. "It's - _breep_ - okay if - _doot_ - I'm with you."

She was used to the gym and the gun ranges at work. A ten-story collection of ladders, platforms, bars, ropes, trapezes and who knew what was outside her expectations. But then, what else would kids with wings train in?

Keyop put her in a corner. He grinned at her and sprinted towards a ladder some ten feet off the ground. A good leap, and he swarmed up like a monkey, jumping to a platform, kicking off to grab a vertical bar and spin around it towards a dangling rope.

Damn. He'd gone from a gangly kid to a graceful acrobat in a split second.

A swing off the rope, bounce off the wall, and a flash of color as he transmuted to his Birdstyle.

The Swallow flashed through the training room like his namesake, too fast for her to follow. If all of G-Force were this quick and agile, no wonder they could take on ten or twenty times their number and come out almost unscathed. _If we could have just one percent of their training, no perp could ever get the drop on us._

Like that corrections officer, Harris, or that nutjob crime scene tech, Stuckey.

With an aerial flourish, Keyop landed. He said something, and again wore the numbered T-shirt and striped pants.

"That was impressive." _Great choice of words, Olivia_. But then, what else could she say?

"Not - _broop_ - enough." He waved his arms to take in not just the room, but the entire base.

"Not enough for what?" Had this been why he wanted to show her to her quarters?

Keyop's mouth worked, but nothing came out.

"Not enough for Chief Anderson?"

He nodded, miserable.

"Is it because your team couldn't find him right away, or what happened afterwards?"

A hand-motion she couldn't interpret.

"Both?"

He nodded.

"You're kicking yourself because you couldn't rescue him before he was hurt. And now you don't know what to do."

Another nod.

"Come here." She was surprised when he threw his arms around her. She'd thought it would be days before any of them even approached her. _I hope Dr. Huang didn't get your hopes up about me._ If he'd told them why he wanted her, and not a fellow professional.

She had to choose her words carefully. A glance at the video stream had traumatized this boy. Wrong phrasing could do so again. "A lot of people feel that way when something like this happens, Keyop. Even in my unit, and we know better. So I know a little bit about how you feel."

He blinked up at her, his eyes asking the question.

"That's the truth. I can tell you about some of our cases, if that might help. You just stop me if you get too upset or the story doesn't seem to make sense to you, okay?"

A nod.

"Well, this one didn't happen to us, but to detectives over in Major Case. A serial killer had kidnapped Detective Eames…."

* * *

Nearly midnight. She fell onto the bed in her quarters. Keyop had seemed to take comfort in knowing his feelings were normal, and perhaps he wouldn't feel that he'd somehow let Anderson down once he thought about what she had told him.

How many times would she have to tell those stories?

* * *

Morning. Too soon. She was awakened by - Wilbur Post? Benson blinked the sleep from her eyes and slowly the rest of her brain caught up. "Who is this?" she asked the air.

"7-ZARK/7, Detective. Chief Anderson requests your presence at Training Room #3."

_Why does he sound like that actor from_ Mr. Ed_?_ "I'll be there as soon as I can. I had a late night."

"I'll let him know, Detective."

"Thank you." What was a 7-ZARK/7?

Quick shower, a change of clothes, and a hope that she would be able to have breakfast at a reasonable hour.

She consulted the wrist-device, and followed the prompts to the training room in question. It wasn't the same room as last night.

Anderson was in an observation room, seated at a console covered with screens and readouts, looking through a large window. "Good morning, Olivia."

"Good morning, sir." She followed his gaze.

The entire G-Force team, in Birdstyle, were grouped defensively in the center of the room, halfway up. Only five stories to this room.

Without a word to his team, he called up a menu and made a selection.

Machine guns fired. Before she even registered that, the five warriors had launched, dodging and weaving as the weapons tracked them. Within a few minutes, they had disabled every one. More scenarios followed, each more difficult than the last.

Anderson frowned, muttered something. He glanced at her and sighed. "They're overdoing it, pushing themselves too hard. Still."

"I'll take your word on that. I could barely follow them." She understood. Act, and you don't have time to brood. Push yourself until you don't so much fall asleep as pass out. Then maybe you won't have the bad dreams, or the insomnia with the second-guessing that comes late at night. If you train hard enough, you can be ready for the next time. That last one was always a lie.

"They've been like that since they rescued me. Although they seem to have calmed down since Dr. Huang arrived."

"How have you been?"

"Barely able to work. I used to lose myself in interesting problems or in planning strategy against Spectra. Now, if I do, and become aware of it, I get nervous. I can't concentrate. My gut says that I have to stay alert. Ready. That I'm in danger." He still didn't look at her.

G-Force had left the training room. "Was there live ammunition in those weapons?"

"Non-lethal rounds. They still hurt when they hit you."

She stood aside so he could leave, and followed him. "Why did you want to see me?"

"I'm trying to get over this."

"You feel uncomfortable with your co-workers, and they don't know how to act around you. I've seen it too many times. They, and you, remember how it used to be, and none of you are certain how to behave." _Enter Captain Obvious._

But it seemed to affect Anderson. He stopped and looked just to one side of her. Right now, his version of looking _at_ her. "Dr. Huang said that. I didn't listen to him at the time. I wasn't ready to listen."

"And now?"

"I have to figure out what to do." He started walking again. "Or rather, how to do it."

Perhaps she could solve her bill-paying problems while helping him. "Sir, I left Manhattan rather quickly. My captain is taking care of my mail, but I didn't have time to make any other arrangements. Is there someone who can help me with that?"

He led her through a maze of corridors to his office. It was well-lit, and his desk had all the latest in computer technology. _And we make do with what we have. I know this war is important, but so are the people they protect._

"What do you need?" he asked.

She had expected him to hand it off to another. "Well, some way to pay my bills. I can go online for banking from here?" _Ask. Let him answer, take charge a bit._

"We can set that up for you. We can even make it seem that you are using your computer at home."

Munch would have something to say about that. "Do you really think we have to go that far?"

"Only if you have a number of online activities. We don't require you to sever all connections. That would look a bit odd to your colleagues."

"Cragen said he'd put me on leave. That's only good for a couple of weeks, tops."

"I'm sure there are ways around the difficulties. Perhaps a temporary reassignment, like Dr. Huang? You can still call your co-workers and go online, but it's too inconvenient to visit them, or for them to visit you. As far as they know, you're in upstate New York."

"That might work. I'll have to think out the details. Thanks." She was serious. The simple dodge of reassignment had not occurred to her. "I can call my squad?"

"We did pull you out suddenly. You may be needed to testify in court, or a victim may want to contact you."

"Any restrictions? Besides not telling them where I am or what I'm doing?"

"That's all you have to keep in mind. Just in case, ZARK will monitor your calls and computer activity, as it does for the entire base. No-one will be able to trace your calls back to here. It's programmed to erase everything from its memory after 24 hours, except operational transmissions."

_He looks annoyed, but not at me. Something about the ZARK unit?_ "I have a colleague who would hold forth on monitoring calls. John Munch. Bit of a conspiracy theorist."

Anderson tapped a few keys. "When Dr. Huang suggested bringing you in, we checked out your team. We have files on everyone."

She remembered Munch once telling her that his FBI file consisted of a single page that could be summarized as, 'Munch is harmless.' He was still disappointed about it. Of course, that was before Federation Security checked him out. And her. "And I'm still here." She could think of a dozen reasons she wasn't suitable.

He smiled. "You're trustworthy in all the ways that count."

"So, who will set me up?"

"I'll have Ms. Monahan get in touch with you."

"Thank you. Mm, what do you people do in your off hours? I'm not going to chase down your team and try to get them to open up when they aren't ready. They have to do that during their appointments with Huang. I may have a lot of time to fill."

"We have a complete library of electronic and print books, several conventional gyms, ready rooms, and other entertainments. You can use the computer in your quarters, in the base library, or any ready room."

That sounded good. She would have a chance to meet the team at random. They'd get to know her. No pressure on them, or on her. "Thank you again. I'll see you later, then?"

This time, he did look at her. "No doubt, Olivia. And thank you."

Apparently, either he wasn't ready to talk, or he had wanted to show her the effect of the attack on his team. "You're welcome."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

After three or four days, Benson settled into a routine. Wake up, work out in the gym, maybe some target practice on the range (with a mock handgun that felt and acted like her own sidearm), do some reading, or participate in activities with off-duty staff. There was even a movie night, a double bill of an 'A' film with a 'B' (or lower) movie. During that time, she kept her eyes and ears open. She let people know that she was available. Several took up her offer.

Dr. Huang was busy. The sessions with G-Force were down to two a week, but there were five on the team, plus Anderson. He could not tell her what they told him, and the agreement was that she was just as bound by confidentiality as he.

Calling her in was logical enough, under the circumstances. Some people speak more easily to women than to men, and some topics seem more appropriate for a woman's ears. She knew that Huang was empathetic, but some would see only that he was a man.

Federation Security no doubt had their share of psychiatrists and psychologists. But G-Force was a special unit, whose membership had to be kept secret. Who could _they_ consult? Why else had there been such a long search?

This morning, she went to the gym and found Princess kicking the hell out of the large bag, dodging it as it swung. She didn't wear pink in the gym (or, as far as Olivia knew, outside of Birdstyle, except for the striped pants). Blue shorts and a sweat-soaked blue T-shirt.

"Morning," she said to Princess.

"Good morning, Olivia." The young woman stopped assaulting the large bag.

"May I hold that for you?" If she could. The Swan could _kick_.

"I'm finished, now." She wiped her face. "I could hold the bag for _you_, though."

"I usually go to the machines."

"Sounds good."

"Let me change."

They worked out together for a couple of hours, then hit the showers. Except for a few generic questions, they barely talked.

As they dressed, Benson asked, "Numbered T-shirts? Why not just wear shirts that say, 'I'm with G-Force'?"

"I'm not sure, either. Thing is, I think it's actually helping our cover. It's so darned obvious that it can't be true." Princess finished brushing out her long hair. "We do have a team of doubles out there. Just the one. Any more, and we might as well wear those T-shirts. Strange as that seems."

"We've had a few moments like that on my squad. Overconfident 'persons of interest' deciding that we looked too much like cops to be cops."

"Could we talk?"

"Sure. Where?" The locker room was too public. Anyone could walk in.

"My quarters."

More corridors. "Have you been here since the rescue?"

"Off and on. More on than off. We don't want to leave the Chief too long, but we do get a bit stir-crazy."

Princess's quarters were on the same plan as Benson's, a large sitting/living area with a small kitchen appended, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Unlike Benson's room, there were plenty of signs of habitation. Framed prints of landscapes and animals on the walls, translations of _The Art of War_ and _A Book of Five Rings_ in her bookshelf (in addition to the Brontë sisters), and some photographs of her teammates, with an emphasis on Mark. A few of Anderson with a black-haired little girl. He looked as proud and happy as if she were his biological daughter. Couch and easy chairs in the sitting area, a simple table and two chairs for the kitchen area.

"Would you like something to drink?" Princess opened her refrigerator. "Water, coffee, tea, a soft drink?" She looked apologetic. "The coffee is instant."

"Coffee is okay." As if she had the time or inclination to grind her own beans.

After she served and curled up on the couch, Princess said, "Keyop raved about you. Said you understood what we were going through. He's been thinking about what you told him."

"I wondered if I'd done him any good. May I ask a personal question about him?"

"Why does he talk the way he does?"

"Well, yes." That must be a common question. Poor kid.

"His mind works so fast that his mouth can't keep up. The result is that the words sort of pile up, and all that comes out are sounds. Unfortunately, he then leaves what he wanted to say in the dust, and sometimes can't remember." She smiled, reminiscing. "He used to be worse. We could barely make out what he was saying. I think he'll continue improving as he ages."

Physically adolescent, but not mentally? But she was here for Princess. "Huang told me you take care of him like a little brother."

"I do. I think of him that way." She put down her coffee. "I didn't tell Huang something. I guess because he doesn't get out in the field the way you do. I didn't think he'd understand.

"We all know rape can happen to us. We've been lucky so far." She hugged herself. "Except Tiny, we've each decided to be stupidly brave and go out alone. During that flower attack, I was actually on a mission. I ended up captured. Fortunately, the Spectrans who caught me were all robots."

"Robots?" Although the flowers filled Benson's thoughts. She and her colleagues in the NYPD, holed up in the most inaccessible parts of their buildings, doing what they could to hold off the flowers. Doctor Warner trying to get through to someone at Federation Security after discovering that blood in water could kill the damn things. A lot of contaminated evidence after that debacle.

"At least half the Spectra soldiers we encounter are robots. For whatever reason, they look completely organic. Some are little more than 'point and shoot' drones, while others are quite sophisticated. Until we destroy or damage them, we can't tell the difference."

_And we on Earth keep reading about the self-propelled Erector sets developed by MIT in popular science magazines._

This was going somewhere. But where?

"We've been lucky. So we feel a bit guilty right now. We don't know what the Chief's going through."

"I think you do. Not exactly, but what Mala did to him was an assault on your team, also."

A sip of coffee. "Maybe you're right about our feelings. Perhaps some guilt, and some empathy.

"I pair with Keyop. Not only to watch over him, but also - and I've never told this to anyone - to take the heat. It may be naïve, but I figured that if the soldiers had a woman to rape, they'd leave Keyop alone."

Benson almost dropped her coffee. _I can't decide if that's brave, stupid, or both._ "I have no idea what to say to that."

"I guess you don't come across it that often."

"Well, not someone who actually anticipates and plans for it, no. Plenty of victims who submitted to protect someone else, but you are the first person I have met who anticipated that could happen, and made a decision."

"I'm young, not ignorant. I know this happens. We were warned that it could, taught about it." Princess clenched her fists. "I just never expected it to happen to Anderson. And not the way it did."

That was always a surprise to people. It just did not seem possible to the average person that a man could become aroused against his will. "Huang could not tell me anything you didn't give him permission to pass on, so I don't have the details of what any of you told him. I do know that it can happen. I've had to coax statements from women who had orgasms, who didn't understand that orgasms are physiological reactions to stimulation, not a measure of willingness. The same with a few men. I've also had to tell victims' spouses and lovers the same thing. Most people have an easier time coping when it's all pain and fear."

"That bitch has some sort of ability to turn the sex appeal on and off." Princess sounded ready to kill.

"What I know about Spectra can fit on a note-card. Is this normal? I mean, can their women do it?"

"Not at all. We aren't sure if she's full Spectran, but a mutant, or an inter-species mix, or has had some sort of biotech work done on her. She does not have the eyes of a Spectran, but she's Z'ólt'ár's sister, with all the advantages and privileges that come with being in the Imperial family, and has considerable rank in their government. There are a lot humanoid aliens in this part of the galaxy, each species with characteristics unique to them. We don't know all the ones under Spectra's control. And sometimes the mixes have abilities unknown in the parents.

"There are aliens living on Earth. You might have met them."

"If I did, they never admitted it." Munch, believer in conspiracy theories, had a good laugh at several sites that were really over the top (especially the ones that claimed _everyone_ in the United States government was alien). She was pretty sure that covert aliens in the government would not wear disguises that slipped under certain types of lighting or whenever they got angry.

"Aside from agents of Spectra, there are defectors and immigrants. Not many. It takes a lot of courage to move from one country to another, never mind from one planet to another. Earth isn't the first choice for most of them. We can barely tolerate each other, sometimes.

"Did you know that there have been attacks on women suspected of being Spectran?"

"I know of four. They died." In the months since Anderson's rescue, four Spectran women had been raped and murdered in New York City. Different perpetrators, according to DNA analysis, but were the attacks separate or committed by a group?

"When they're caught, the perpetrators justify it with what happened to the Chief. I've heard him on the communications grid. He's angry about them. He has always reminded us that not all Spectrans are our enemies. Even if they were, that's not the way to deal with them.

"These criminal attacks only serve Z'ólt'ár, not us. The people of Spectra will rally around him, in the name of the dead. They'll tell themselves that - what happened to Anderson - was operationally necessary, and different from what's happening on Earth."

Except for the 'operationally necessary' excuse, there was a minor justification for such thinking. Mala nâl Afés'trin had assaulted Anderson for a specific reason: to demoralize the Federation and G-Force, to break him to her will, and perhaps to provoke just this sort of nonsense. Those who attacked suspected Spectrans were simply using recent news events to justify their criminal behavior. If the victims weren't extraterrestrials, they could have been Hispanics, Arabs/Muslims, Chinese, or whatever other group had made recent headlines. All some jerks needed was a justification.

She had seen two of the dead Spectrans, and had not spotted a single outward difference from humans. Warner had found out during autopsy, when she discovered the colored contacts over the eyes and the internal differences. Then Federation Security had moved in and taken over.

"That seems to happen whenever a distinctive group makes the news."

"The Chief's going to sound like a paragon, but he's been that way as long as I've known him. Don't stoop to the enemy's level. Respect people's basic rights. Kill if you have to, but don't be sadistic or senseless. Otherwise we're no better than they are, and maybe worse.

"It's a war, and stuff happens. Soldiers get angry or frustrated, and do things they wouldn't ordinarily do. Commanding officers let their people violate the rules of conduct, or even encourage it. When that happens, we stop it and punish the perpetrators."

Recalling more than a few military obstructionists, Olivia asked, "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Some of our allies in the Federation are sticklers for that. They have their own histories of conflicts that never seemed to end because people were always citing some local atrocity or other as an excuse to keep on fighting."

That was good. She wished some people on Earth would get the message. How many times had the NYPD stumbled into a crime that had its ultimate origins in another country?

"You admire Anderson."

"He's as good as my father. I don't remember life without him. Mark sort of remembers his parents, and Jason was about six or seven when he was orphaned. Tiny and I have no memories at all of our parents, and you know about Keyop. I know you have reservations about us, but he's a good man, and he tried to raise us right."

As right as he could, given his intentions. At least he hadn't raised assassins.

Princess tasted her coffee, and grimaced. "Cold. Want some more?"

"Sure."

Refills. "We don't open up easily, even to each other. Things tend to build up until we have to talk or burst open. I think, because we've been together so long, we forget that we have to talk about things. Have you seen us in the training rooms?"

"Once."

"We barely speak. We know each other so well that we use hand-gestures and head-tilts in a fight. The only time we speak is to give Z'ólt'ár a hard time or to warn each other."

They actually dared insult the Emperor of Spectra?

"In combat, not speaking is an advantage. When something like this happens, it's not good.

"Mark's been really quiet. Brooding. Usually, I can get him to talk to me, but he clams up if I try. I think he's worried about what might happen if we're captured. This has - well, it's made it pretty clear how lucky we've been."

"You're scared, too."

"Yes. I made that decision, about being with Keyop, and I'm sticking to it. He's pretty good at getting out of situations, and he can be vicious in a fight. But, yes, I'm scared."

Oh, crap. "This is none of my business, but, are you - you haven't…."

"No. So I don't even have that to remember." She looked up. "Don't worry. I know that rape is to sex what a punch in the mouth is to a kiss. A girl just wants her first time to be the kiss." A reassuring smile. "And I'm not going to jump Mark, either. If it happens, it will happen because we want to make love, not because of Mala."

"Rape is no less traumatic for women with five kids and healthy marital sex-lives than for virgins. The emotional damage is just as bad." Oh, how to put it into words? "Sometimes, the good memories make the emotional pain even worse. The rape has tainted the associations. That's one reason why marriages can fall apart, even when they were solid beforehand.

"For virgins, there's that nonsense about physical virtue equaling moral virtue. That there's some sort of magic about virginity. I once had to convince a young woman and her parents that she was not a slut because members of her school's football team had gang-raped her. Sorry."

"Be honest. Keyop said you were honest. Tactful."

"He needed careful handling."

"He still does. I'm trying to help him understand. He's barely discovered girls, and he has to deal with this mess." Princess chuckled. "He's still very much a boy. Bugs and worms and lizards have found their way onto the _Phoenix_, and here. I wish he could have stayed innocent."

Indeed.

"God, I don't know how to say this, Olivia. I'm scared about getting raped. Whether or not I can handle it. Whether I can be as - as - rebellious and strong as the Chief once I'm down, or if I'll break like dropped eggshell china."

The Swan knew, better than most, that nobody could be sure of their own strength until the test. "You aren't weak, Princess. It's not weakness to be afraid."

"I know, but it still feels that way. This will sound sick, but if it happens, I hope it goes the way we usually expect. I don't think I could stand it if Z'ólt'ár had his sister's talents, or if Mala had some male equivalent for the female prisoners."

"It sounds rather normal. Most people want a crime to happen as they expect it should happen. No guilt, no second-guessing, no hindsight. It would make my job easier if all victims were strangers to their attackers and nowhere near dangerous places." Less for defense attorneys to use against victims, particularly the ones who refused to put their lives on hold just because assholes thought they could do as they pleased.

"I'll bet."

Olivia waited. She was willing to stay all day, if necessary.

"How can I help the Chief? He's still in a bad way."

The hardest question of all, so far.

* * *

_Mala pinned him to the bed. "Did you think you escaped me? We have unfinished business between us." With the hated gentleness, she caressed his face and chest. "You know what I can do. Surrender."_

_ He couldn't move. Could. Not. Move. Her captive again._

_ She continued her attentions. Everything he remembered, everything he feared._

_ No chains. No chains. He should be able to move, dammit. Move. _Move!

_ "Get off me - _

" - you bitch!" Anderson almost fell out of the bed as he shoved at empty air.

He stared into the darkness, blind until his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the windows. With a shaking hand, he turned on the bedside lamp.

Christ. Shit. He hadn't had that nightmare in a while.

But. He had pushed her off.

* * *

A few days after her talk with Princess, Benson was relaxing in one of the ready rooms when a woman cautiously sat in the chair beside her. "Detective?"

"You can call me Olivia. What is it?"

"Katherine Ohrman." The hesitation of someone who can't think of how to say what they want to say, and not sound pathetic or ridiculous.

"Is it about Chief Anderson?"

"Yes." Ohrman looked away, blushed, fiddled with nothing in particular.

Benson recognized the body language. "You like him. Beyond professional feelings."

A nod.

"Does he know how you feel?"

"No. I don't know. The thing is, before this all happened, I didn't want to make a mistake. You know. It might not work out, that sort of thing. I like working here. Or I did, before it all got weird on us."

And now she couldn't even mention it, for fear of upsetting him, or being misunderstood.

"A lot of people think he's afraid of us. Of women. I don't think that's it. Well, not all of it. Or, not that way. Damn it, I can't find the words…." A frown darkened Ohrman's face. "That bitch took away his feeling of control. He doesn't dare be alone with a woman because he might be tempted to assert some control, in the wrong way. She would win."

That had niggled at the back of Benson's mind ever since she had arrived. She knew of similar cases. The most recent had been a prison inmate who, on release, had gone on to rape a number of men because he had been raped in prison.

"I want to help him, but I don't want to make him feel that anyone is taking away control or pressuring him."

Benson looked over Ohrman, from the ugly hairstyle to the cheap shoes. Had the ugly clothes the women wore become more tempting than a stripper's ensemble?

"I wish I could give you some advice, but every case is different. What works for one person may not work for another."

"And in this case, a misstep would be worse than doing nothing. I know. He's the face of Federation Security. He has to follow a higher standard than anyone else." Ohrman ran her hands along the hem of her sweater. "I've thought I might ditch some of this. Not all at once. I could loosen up my hair, and wear a better color. The way we've been acting is simply reminding him of what happened, and I don't want that for him. Is it worth a try?"

"Again, I don't know for certain. Are you prepared for the consequences if you're mistaken?"

"That's what's stopped me before."

"What's changed?"

"This obviously isn't working. It's like telling someone with a broken leg to sit and do nothing while we fetch and carry. The leg may heal, but it won't be strong, and the person may lose the ability to walk at all."

Ohrman obviously knew where the metaphor would break down, but had used it anyway. Her plan could be dangerous. "You've thought this through? If it goes wrong, your feelings for Anderson won't help you with the consequences."

"It could happen now. A moment of weakness combined with a moment of temptation. I may not be able to disable a man with my pinky like Princess, but I can still defend myself. Everyone here receives training in self-defense. We never know when Spectra might show up. And yes, I might fail, but it might also be enough to knock some sense back into him."

Over the past week and a half, Benson had heard enough to worry that people idolized Anderson. This added a complication to the already complicated mess of the assault. Mala had knocked him off the pedestal they had put him on. Were they strong enough to admit he was human, and let him join them?

Or was he one of those supremely good and decent people that come along every once in a while and inspire the rest of the species? G-Force might be 'his', but perhaps he'd been chosen to form the team _because_ of his moral code. She simply did not know enough about him.

Ohrman could be right. But there was always the alternative, and the detective had seen too much pain come from well-meant actions. "I can't tell you that it's the right course of action. He's human. He might not respond as you expect."

"I didn't really expect you give me a stamp of approval. But if you had unequivocally disapproved, I would have obeyed."

"Keep in touch. If it goes wrong, call me immediately." She gave Ohrman her cell number, just in case of the midnight call.

* * *

Anderson left Center Neptune to give hell to Jefferson Kavanaugh. a 'conservative pundit' who defended the attacks on suspected extraterrestrials with interestingly warped logic. Jason and Princess accompanied him, in uniform, fulfilling their duties as guards.

The high-rated bloviator made certain that he had an attractive blonde with him, and she had obviously been instructed to invade Anderson's space. As Benson and the rest of G-Force watched the telecast (there was a five-minute delay), Anderson refrained from a damaging emotional outburst and turned the arguments back on Kavanaugh.

He'd done his research, and had, either at hand or available through a link, everything he needed to know about Kavanaugh's methods, political beliefs, previous statements on given topics, marital status, and other possible subjects.

He dealt with the specious efforts to lump all extraterrestrials together, drawing parallels with America's often unfortunate history with the various ethnic groups that had come over from other countries.

After that, he made it clear that the attacks helped Spectra's propaganda efforts. Federation Intelligence had come across the Spectra Imperium versions of public service announcements. By simply using the most-quoted sound bites from well-known commentators on both sides, the propagandists made humans look like stupid brutes who could not tell friend from foe, and didn't care to make the distinction.

The better Anderson's points, the more desperate his 'host' became, pouring on the falsehoods and innuendos until someone in the studio pulled the plug. Kavanaugh's statement that Anderson had enjoyed Mala's attentions was made to a dead microphone.

"That was another fucking assault!" Mark yelled as the screen blanked. "Did you see what they were trying to do to him?"

"And so did everyone else who watched this," Tiny said. "The Chief came off a lot better than that bastard and his skank. And she was nothing like Mala."

Keyop cheered, a chorus of sounds that made him sound like an aviary.

Benson had been watching Jason's reactions. They weren't the reactions of an angry son or subordinate.

* * *

In the studio, Princess smiled sweetly at Anderson's erstwhile opponents. "On a scale of one to ten, with Mala as the 10, you two barely rated a 1."

"Don't even put them in the same universe as her," Jason said. "They aren't worthy to polish her whips." He wanted to say more, much more.

Anderson checked his watch. "I have a spot on _The Daily Show_. Come on, or we'll be late."

Only when they were in the car did he give voice to his pain. Jason heard curse words he had never known existed.

As expected, things went much better on _The Daily Show._

_

* * *

_

"That might not have been the wisest thing to do," Mark said, looking over at Benson. He'd met any number of strong, capable women in his short life. This was the first time he was not on an equal footing with one. She was acting as a therapist, not a colleague.

They stood at one of the large windows in an empty recreation/observation room. He wore his Birdstyle. Armor against her. Against his feelings. He'd also locked the door against intruders. "But he did have to do it. We've done a good job convincing people he's not hiding down here, but at some point, he has to be seen by outsiders." He grinned. "I knew he could do it."

"I don't know him like you do. I was worried. I've seen too many people collapse while trying to put up a front, and Kavanaugh was really pushing the limits." She frowned.

"Okay," he admitted, "I was worried. I knew he could do it, but I could also have been wrong. God, what was that bastard thinking?" _Why are people like that?_

"Ratings. It's all about entertainment and getting people's attention."

"Next week, he'll probably be dissing Z'ólt'ár and telling everyone what he would do if he were in charge. Make the human race look bratty to Spectrans young and old."

"Those propaganda shorts seemed odd to me. I wasn't surprised at the racial superiority crap, but there was something else in there. Or was it a translation problem?"

She didn't know. A lot of humans did not know even this about Spectra. "Homo erectus walked the Earth when the first cities rose on Spectra. About a million years ago. Really, a million years ago."

"Their civilization is that old? Then why aren't they already ruling us?"

"They aren't telling. But they have a vested interest in being the True Race or True Species, the first civilization in this part of the galaxy, and these idiot blowhards don't do much to change their minds about the rest of us." Even the most liberal-minded Spectrans could be patronizing and condescending towards the 'younger races' of the galaxy.

Benson nodded.

"When I faced Mala, I had yet to see a Spectran face-to-unmasked-face. I knew she couldn't be a full Spectran because of her eyes. That she was actually an acknowledged sibling to Z'ólt'ár was a surprise. We had heard from defectors that there was an extensive eugenics program in place. It was too effective. A genetically healthy Spectran is almost a contradiction in terms."

"Did they say why it was implemented?"

"It lasted for millennia. Each defector had a separate theory."

He had avoided her since her arrival. Princess mentioned that they had talked, and he wondered what they had discussed.

Time to drop the armor. He transmuted out of Birdstyle.

"I killed or injured a lot of soldiers while looking for the Chief. Maybe if they hadn't fucking _smirked_, I might have let them run off." He collected his thoughts.

"He's _Chief Anderson!_ He's our soul. And that _bitch_ hurt him!" He thumped a fist on the window. "Hurt him the only way she could hurt him, short of killing one of us before his eyes." _Hurt us._

That was the usual purpose of rape and other sexual assaults during conflicts, he knew. Maximum pain and humiliation with minimal effort. Knew that, but still - still -

Benson said, "I'll ask what Huang asks: how do you feel about it?"

"Angry. Guilty. Scared." He couldn't look at her, because she would see too much. "If they could get him, snatch him right out from under our noses, they can get any of us. I'm sure you know that we don't always come as a set. We've been so lucky, and now it seems our luck's run out. Maybe the next time we're cornered, we won't escape." He stroked the lump of his sonic boomerang strapped to his leg.

"Maybe they'll - they'll do that - to Princess. God, I couldn't stand that. Not to her. Not to any of us."

"I understand."

Ready to snap at her, he whirled, and saw her face. She _did_ understand. "Oh, damn." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have known." Something had happened to her.

"I've been lucky, too. And I've known too many other female officers who were attacked, and seen too many sons, fathers, and brothers devastated by attacks on their loved ones."

"How do you do it?" _Please, God, tell me there's a way I can get this out of my head and heart. I want to sleep all night._

"How do you cope with what you do? I know it isn't all _Phoenix_ against machines out there."

"One day at a time."

"That's how I do it, too. One day at a time, and remembering that there are more good people than bad out there, and that I do help people."

He flicked open the seam in his pants and drew his boomerang. "It isn't enough. I keep thinking about it, about what I could do if it did happen." With a casual-seeming gesture, he threw the weapon, caught it on its return. "I have this. I have my training. In the middle of the night, when I wake up from a nightmare of us in Z'ólt'ár's power, it seems a toy and my training merely play-acting." His eyes begged her. "What can I do? How do I get this out of my head? I'll be a wreck at the next attack."

"This will sound like no answer at all," she said. "Work through it, just as I did. Just as thousands do every day."

He looked away, then back at her. "I – I know you're here because of your experience, but I don't want to pry."

"But you want to know about my luck."

"Yes."

"There was a time I almost wasn't lucky. I had gone undercover at a woman's prison to investigate allegations against a corrections officer."

"I hate it when one of our own is corrupt."

"Me, too." She continued the telling. Unlike with Keyop, she did not have to edit.

Mark listened, aware that too many would listen to this in a voyeuristic manner, with other listeners feeling revulsion. He wanted to understand. He wanted guidance. He wanted to not feel this paralyzing fear and worry, or at least to know that he would not feel it forever. She could give him that. She had to. "You sometimes still feel his hands on you."

"Not as often as I did. I can go weeks without thinking of him. When I do, it's no longer as distressing."

"When I remember how the Chief was, I get scared. I've seen him afraid, I've seen him angry, I've seen him pacing in helpless anger and frustration when we can't figure out how to defeat the latest attack or when some bunch of bureaucrats dig in their heels for stupid reasons. I've seen him just about every way there is to see him, and none of it helped. He was hurting. In pain. He'd been all alone except for that monster.

"A lot of people practically worship him, you know. We – G-Force – have seen him with morning hair and flip-flops. We know he's human. He's also a father to us." He clenched his free hand.

"He was bleeding. We've bled worse, but we weren't bitten and scratched by the bitch from hell. Birth-naked and displayed for anyone to see. Shoulder dislocated. Humiliated, ashamed, as helpless as I've ever seen him.

"_SHIT!_" He hit the window again. "I don't have the words for how I feel. And yes, I know it's normal to have these feelings. I don't _want_ to have them. I want them out of my head. For once, I envy ZARK. It doesn't remember anything. It only knows the Chief was kidnapped and tortured. If it comes across any references, any bits of video, it - Oh, hell." _I just fucked up._

She ignored the mistake. "You should talk to your teammates, Mark. In this case, G-Force's self-sufficiency isn't the right response. I'm sure they're all thinking similar thoughts to yours. Make a plan, or something. Arrangements. Decide who gets to cut off the first set after you get loose."

"Oh, Jason will cut off the first set. We all know that. I _should_ talk to them. Every time I think of that, I get cold feet." He half-chuckled. "Maybe Cronus should come kick my ass a bit. That seems to clear my head."

"I could always get you all in the same room and lock the door. With me on the outside."

"Yeah, and Keyop would have it open again before you'd even pulled out the key.

"But you're right. I must talk to the team. I'm just not sure how." He sat down on a couch. "Maybe you can help me figure that out."

"Sure."

* * *

"I let slip that ZARK is more than a computer system," Mark told Anderson. "I didn't mean to. I let my feelings get the best of me when I was talking to Detective Benson. I said I envied it because it didn't remember."

"What did she do?"

"Acted as if I hadn't said anything unusual."

"She won't say anything to anyone. But thank you for telling me." Anderson cocked his head. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you know how much she's been through, Chief? I feel like such a damned wimp over this." He winced. "Sorry, that didn't come out right." _I didn't mean to diminish your pain, sir._

"I understand your meaning. I also doubt she thinks you're a wimp."

"I _feel_ like a wimp." She had told him other stories after the one about the corrections officer. How did regular people cope with that sort of trauma if he could not?

It had been a long time since Anderson had acted like a father to him. The older man came around the desk and put an arm around Mark. "You feel that you should be able to handle this the same way you handle the fighting."

"Yeah."

"Stubborn kid." Said affectionately. "It isn't the same, and you can't make it the same."

"I know."

"What brought it on?"

"Talking to her. She sees it every day, and hasn't let it beat her." _She doesn't hide. A lot of people don't hide_.

"That's why she's here. So it won't beat us."

"Have you talked to her, yet?"

"No."

_I bet I know why. The same reason I held off. Too painful._ "You should. Soon."

* * *

Anderson was finally available. _Mark probably went to him and confessed his slip. Now I should admit I heard it. Wonder what the penalty is?_

"Sir?" She knocked on the doorframe.

"Come in, Olivia."

_Get to the point._ "Mark got upset while we were talking. I think he let something classified out."

"He told me."

"So, now what?"

"We won't wipe your memory. You were cleared to be here because you can be trusted to keep secrets."

"So we wait until later? I already know enough to make me a target for Spectra if they ever find out I was here." To be honest, a memory wipe wasn't a distressing idea. That way, she would not have to guard against giving anything away.

"If you request it." He hesitated. "We have used the expertise of a number of people outside of Federation Security itself. At times, it's saved us from chasing the wrong people. We might need your help in the future. If you don't remember, we can't use you."

She didn't think she was that special, beyond her purpose here. _I'm only here because Huang was chosen, and he recommended me. I catch bad guys. Ordinary bad guys. Ann Landers could do what I'm doing here._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

E-mail, and more e-mail. She could get too used to the Internet connections here. They made the one she used seem like a bad dial-up.

One from the ADA, reminding her about the Zollner trial. Next Tuesday. Her testimony was the key to getting the man locked up.

A couple of spam offers to enhance her penis size, pay all her bills, and one from the fictional Nigerian exiled prince.

Elliott had sent her a couple of entries from one of those humor sites that allowed users to caption pictures. One was a news photo of Princess in Swan mode. The caption read, 'Admit it: you'd LET her kick your ass.' Someone else had found a picture of Anderson, frowning, hand raised, apparently beckoning, and written: 'Next round is MINE, bitch.' Just to keep from admitting he had deduced her 'temporary assignment', he included several others based on news stories not connected to G-Force. A little pop-up read: 'We let this one through. Tell him to keep quiet. – I.T.'

She sent Elliott a neutral reply and made a mental note to tell him personally when she was back in New York.

* * *

Anderson arranged for her transport to New York. This time, she didn't travel on the _Phoenix_. Smallish submarines made regular trips to and from Center Neptune, and one was leaving Sunday. Jason accompanied her, in his other role as driver and guard. When they debarked, he checked a car from the motor pool and drove her to an airport used by Federation Security.

"How does it feel to travel in style?" he asked, as they boarded the plane that would take her to New York.

"If I do this too often, I'll get spoiled." As if she wasn't spoiled right now. Leg and butt room. _Munch_ was cramped in airplane seats.

He grinned. "It beats commercial, for sure."

"Where's the T-shirt?" He wore a rather nice-looking brown sweater.

"Underneath. Technically, we're always on duty." He stretched out in his seat. "There are just times when we're _expected_ to be at Center Neptune or on call. We have no lives."

* * *

"Hey, Liv." Stabler met her just outside the courtroom.

"Hi." She leaned close. "No more of those e-mails," she whispered.

"Okay." He glanced at Jason, asked in a normal tone, "Who's the kid?"

"Not such a kid. He's working with me at my new assignment. He drove me over. Jay, this is my partner, Elliott Stabler. Elliott, meet Jay. No last name. For now."

"So you're the guy she keeps talking about. Now I'm officially envious." Jason gave out the 'cop to cop' handshake. Benson hadn't said a thing, but no-one would know from his tone.

"I can't wait to hear this story," Stabler said. "Will I be able to?"

"That depends on what happens," Benson said.

"Always the same excuse."

* * *

Jason sat in the visitor's gallery during the trial. It didn't last long. Her testimony, and the forensics, were as close to proof of Zollner's guilt as finding him in the act. His attorney put forth a good effort, but the jury found him guilty by Thursday.

Afterwards, she sorted through her mail and took what she wanted with her. At Cragen's silent question, she said, "Work in progress. You'll see the finished product."

* * *

"Bit of a detour," Jason told her. "Anderson wants me to stop off in San Francisco and pick up some data from a guy we use on occasion."

"You don't have enough people to do that?"

"This guy brings a unique perspective to things. We'd have snapped him up long ago except he was released from the San Francisco police department for psychiatric reasons. Obsessive-compulsive disorder and Spectra attacks don't mix."

"Anything else?"

"The Chief thought you might be a bit stir-crazy. We can take a little time to look around and see the sights."

And maybe talk. If Jason wanted to do so.

After Jason made his pick-up, they took a little tour. He did an excellent job pretending to be out with a favorite aunt (and she was old enough to be his aunt), then they had lunch, and ended up in a small park, on a bench in a quiet spot.

"I had an ulterior motive," he admitted. "I didn't want to talk to you at the base."

"Why not?"

"The unclassified reason is because I feel weird doing this in the first place. People call me a hot-head, and I am, but I don't share my feelings very well. There's stuff I don't tell anyone, and now it's eating at me."

"Then why me? Your teammates know you best." She watched a couple of joggers pass by. A cool breeze riffled the trees and bushes around them, tousled his unruly hair further.

"They think they know me. And what I have to say would freak them out. At the least, it would change things between us."

"Okay, but why me, and not Huang?"

"You're a woman. There are some things that women in general just seem to handle better than men."

That could mean anything.

"I'm human. I was born on a colony world. The colonists actually named it 'Grab Bag.' I think they'd been reading too many Larry Niven novels. It was an accurate name, though. Humans and assorted aliens, each group too small to justify the expense of each one setting up on its own little rock. We weren't weirdoes trying to prove political, religious, or social points, so we all got along."

'Grab Bag.' Had she heard of it?

"Spectra attacked. I was six, nearing seven, years old. All I remember of the attack itself is noise and screaming. Then quiet. Next thing I remember is being dragged out of the house by Spectra soldiers and forced to watch as the non-robots gang-raped my mother and sisters. My father was bleeding out, also forced to watch. One of the bastards finally shot him in the head.

"Another couple of soldiers must have liked my looks, because I was still looking at my family being raped to death, and didn't know what was happening until those fuckers had my pants down. Right then, as if sent from Heaven, the Rangers roared out of the sky, guns blazing. Federation troops were right behind them.

"If Cronus were fictional, nobody would ever believe he could exist. The guy can thread a needle with his spaceship, and shoot the balls off a flea at fifty paces. I still swear that every round from his ship's machine guns hit a separate target. Then he landed and started shooting with a handgun. A _handgun_, and not even a machine pistol.

"What I saw were some dead soldiers with their crap hanging out, and I knew that I would have joined my mother and sisters. No way was I going to be so ungrateful as to let Cronus keep doing the heavy lifting. I tried to help. I mostly got in the way.

"Big Red liked my spirit, and asked if I wanted to help fight Spectra. I said yes, and he helped me find my pants. Yeah, I was so jazzed I hadn't even noticed my butt was showing.

"There was a lot of bureaucratic stuff connected to refugees that I don't remember, but I didn't have any family close enough to want to take me in. My closest relatives were a third cousin and his wife. That's how he was able to take me to Chief Anderson.

"The G-Force project was just starting. They were still selecting the members. Mark and Princess were already there, and Tiny arrived a few months after I did." Jason laughed. "Princess is definitely Daddy's little girl. For a long time, I thought he really was her father."

"That must have been interesting to watch. When the tears failed, she could threaten to blow something up." How do you enforce curfew on someone with ninja skills?

"I don't recall her ever having to turn on the waterworks. Those big green eyes do it to everyone.

"The Chief made sure I had some therapy for my experience. Anyway, we became a family. I think of them all as my siblings."

"And Anderson as your father?"

"No. He's always been a mentor to me. A guide. The man who gave me the means to fight Spectra, so no other little boys will have to see what I did, so no-one has to watch their hard work smashed to pieces and have their lives destroyed because some maniac won't share the galaxy with the rest of us." He leaned back, eyes closed, marshalling his thoughts.

"Have the others told you I've been a bigger dick than usual?"

"No." They'd mentioned being concerned about him, but hadn't gone into detail.

"They probably don't remember, but it started well before Mala grabbed him. Probably thought it was just more of the same between me and Mark. We butt heads over strategy and tactics. This was – is – different."

_Keep going._

"I'm in love with Anderson." He opened one eye.

Oh. "For how long?"

"I don't know. I know I realized it after one of those idiotic meet-and-greets on Tzarkad'aya. Couldn't take my eyes off him for more than a few seconds all evening. I thought I'd picked up on something, if you know what I mean." Both eyes were open, now.

"I do." The thousand little tells that you don't consciously see, but which add up to a warning. "That's saved my life a few times."

"It's saved all of us. But no: it was just me wanting to look at him. You have to admit, he's worth looking at."

"Don't deflect." A good attempt, though.

"I had a dream that night. Pretty explicit. Surprised the hell out of me when I realized how I felt. I've dated women. I like them. I always figured I'd simply never met one who rang my bell. Is that the way it is for gays? Not being sure?"

"It depends on the person," she said. "Some know from childhood. Some figure it out along the way. Some deny it vigorously. They don't want it to be true, because of how their friends or family or society will react. And some aren't sure. Because they think they know how gay people act, and they aren't acting that way."

"All mincy and wimpy and cat-loving?"

"If you mean gay men, yes. And you know the lesbian stereotype."

"A few people have called Princess that. Because she can fight."

"Jason." No deflecting. Get him to talk.

"Got me." He smiled. "I decided to talk about this, and I find myself trying to divert the conversation."

"You're telling me things that you've never told anyone else. It's natural that you feel uncomfortable and uncertain." She knew that from experience with victims and witnesses.

"Yeah. It's harder and easier than I thought. Am I making sense?"

"You are."

"I was being a problem child." Jason shook his head. "He can't reciprocate. He's definitely heterosexual. But I did whatever I could to get his attention.

"When Mala had him captive, I was so upset I'm surprised I didn't give myself away. When we rescued him, I made Mark drive, because I couldn't see straight. I held him all the way to Center Neptune, and it was all wrong."

She let him think what to say.

"Knowing he's hetero doesn't keep me from fantasizing, even dreaming, about being with him. Being in his arms, being loved. I can't help it. None of those fantasies involved torture, or rescuing him from danger. He's the strong one. If I ever imagine anything like that, I'm the one being comforted.

"He hung onto me to keep himself together. When I swore I would kill her slowly, he told me not to. That we were better than that. After what that bitch did to him, he could still say it."

No wonder Huang had been frustrated about Jason's progress. He didn't have necessary information.

"We all make him sound like a demigod of virtue, but he isn't. He screws up plenty of times. If he didn't, I don't think we could follow him. Perfection is a hard act to follow. I couldn't love him if he were perfect."

"Have you ever felt so intensely about anyone else?"

"No. That's why I'm confused. I dream about him, I want him, but there are times when I wonder if my feelings are real."

"Your feelings are real. A lot of people make the mistake of discounting a childhood crush because of age, but an adolescent in love feels emotions every bit as real as an adult." She thought about it. "Or do you mean you wonder if you actually have sexual feelings towards him? If it's that sort of love?" Even with the dreams and fantasies?

"I'm not so young, but I get what you're saying. My childhood wasn't normal. Losing my family, becoming part of G-Force, fighting Spectra: not a childhood I'd wish on anyone. Thing is, Mark and Princess are pretty normal. Considering. That's why I sometimes wonder."

"I can't help you with your feelings about Anderson. We love whom we love. My experience is that it's not the feelings, but what we do about them, that can cause the trouble." _And makes it so hard on you, right now_.

"When Her Monstrousness had him, I would have sold my soul to get him back. Now, I want revenge. I want to hurt her so that she knows pain that keeps her awake at night. I want to kill her. I want to kill her brother. It won't help the Chief, it won't help me, but if Mala nâl Afés'trin walked past me right now, there's not much to stop me. I want those bastards to pay for everything they've done, even if it means I lose everything."

"No, Jason."

"I know I shouldn't, but I do."

"Then you'd better work on that. I know how you feel. I've been there. I don't think there's a cop on the planet who hasn't, except for rookies right out of the academy. I know a former detective who's sitting in prison right now because he could not let a case go. He couldn't get the evidence he needed to prove the perp's guilt in court, so he went out, found the man, and killed him. I saw his face when we caught up to him. If an angel gave him a second chance, and the same roadblock came up, he'd still commit murder. Were he released tomorrow, he could never be so much as a crossing guard. He has nothing."

"People keep telling me that revenge is pointless. I still want it. How the hell do the rest of you avoid the temptation?"

"We use whatever works at the time. I've told myself that I can't let down the other victims, or that it can be used in an appeal or other legal action concerning a case I worked, even that there would be too much paperwork to be worth the effort. And I remind myself of the civilians who got their revenge, whether it involved murder or not, and had nothing left to live for. They were alive, but had no more direction, no more purpose. It takes over your life, Jason. You, yourself, can justify your quest with the war. But it's still revenge. When you have it, what will you do? Have you thought beyond that moment?"

For a moment, it seemed he would stand up and leave. "No. I always figured I'd die in action."

"Do this for me, then. Not necessarily now. Imagine that you got your revenge. That you survived the experience, and weren't arrested for war crimes. You got a medal and a pension and a chance to have a life. What would you do? Oh, and becoming a regular soldier, or part of another elite force, or anything like that, does not count."

"And if I can't?"

"Then you really do have to rethink your priorities."

He nodded. "The thing is, I know that. I know it. I know it will ruin my life, but I don't know if I can stop wanting it."

"Again, it isn't how you feel, but what you do about those feelings."

"I sort of lied a few minutes ago. About not much stopping me if that bitch were here."

"I know."

"I could not disappoint him. Our moral code is our greatest weapon. We try not to kill needlessly, and not to kill innocents or bystanders. No torture. No abuse.

"Yet, there are times when I could - Well, let's just say it's a good thing that Spectra's been quiet. Not so much as a threatening message from the Imperial Whacko himself."

"Why is that, do you think?" It had been more than long enough for something to happen.

"Mala pissed off every hacker and IT professional in the Federation. Spectra's computers are full of more viruses than the CDC labs right now. At least, that's what our sources tell us."

Not what she would have expected from hackers. _Nice to know they have standards._

"I don't want to disappoint him. That's why I finally decided to talk to you."

She looked over at him. Huang had said they were guarded. Mark had worn Birdstyle in her presence until the day of the interview with Kavanaugh. The only one who had come to her right off was Keyop. They had all looked so young. So vulnerable. Not like the elite warriors of Federation Security. Since then, the three had visited her to reopen previous discussions.

Jason looked just as young, and extremely vulnerable. "You don't want to tell your teammates how you feel about Anderson."

"No. You know why."

"I had a stupid moment on a case. I actually wondered why a football player's teammates would be upset that he was gay." She shook her head. "All that macho, and I was dumb."

He chuckled. "We all have our stupid moments, don't we?"

"I do understand why you don't want them to know."

"We have no problem with homosexuality or homosexuals. Plenty of people in Federation Security and at base who are gay. But it's one thing to find out that a member of the _Phoenix_ maintenance crew is gay, and another to find out a teammate is."

"You're the same as you ever were, but now people know. And no matter how liberal-minded your friends are, knowing that changes how they see you."

"And I don't want them misunderstanding why I do something, or having some other problem." Jason looked down at his hands. "I don't want to tell the Chief because I don't want to put any more pressure on him. He doesn't do it much anymore, but he still roams around at night. Last thing he needs is to meet my lovesick self and know how I feel about him. It can wait."

"Maybe not. None of you are talking to each other. You should do that, before there's another attack."

"Is it that bad with them?"

"You worry about them misunderstanding you. You'll never understand each other if you don't talk about your fears."

"I'm sure you've figured out that we don't do that very much. We think we know each other too well to talk about stuff like this."

"I know you're angry about what happened to Anderson. What else?"

He clenched his hands together. "You know. I'm scared. We all had thought it would be old-fashioned sodomy for us guys, and Princess getting the two-fer." His expression darkened, and she could see the Condor under his youth. "Anyone lays a hand on my teammates, and I will rip that bastard wide open.

"Anyway, now we know it can happen another way. And I don't want to think what we might have found if we'd been a day or two later rescuing him. Or what might happen to us in the same situation. Could I hold out? I can take pain. You can pound me all day and I'll grit my teeth and bear it. But what she did - that's basic brainwashing, with sex as the method. I don't know if I could stand it, or how I'd break.

"I don't like feeling this way. I felt it that day, along with the anger. When I get too worked up, I'm even more hot-headed. I want to act. Any action at all. That's dangerous. It could get me killed. It could get my teammates killed."

Z'ólt'ár had gotten his wish: G-Force disabled. If he ordered an attack tomorrow, the team would be too hobbled by their fear and anger to effectively counter it.

"Have any advice, Olivia?"

"Just that you should talk to your teammates. All of you need to get your fears into the open and work out what you'll do. Even if you forget the damn plan when the chips are down, you will have still prepared for it. It can make a difference." She sighed. "You may have to admit your feelings for Anderson. Or it might not come to that."

A quick smile flashed across his face. "Take on a thousand Spectra soldiers, unarmed? We're there. Face a mecha with one missile and our wits? No sweat. Talk to each other about our fears and internal demons? Nope. Zip. Nada." He sighed. "We're our toughest opponents."

"On that one, I can honestly say that I know how you feel." She'd rather face an armed thug than herself any day of the week.

* * *

Evening. The sunset stained the Pacific with hues of red, orange and yellow. She and Jason had talked more, usually going over the same ground, but with more information each time.

One thing she could not determine: if Jason really was gay. G-Force was a closed group. She didn't see them attending regular classes in school, if they were learning to become a specialized fighting force. More likely they had been tutored and trained intensively, with little or no interaction with other children. All it would have taken was one playground dispute gone nuclear to blow their cover. Jason kept himself to himself, for the most part. She gathered that the team's long-term adult contacts were limited to the personnel at Center Neptune and other bases. Not a good basis for learning about life, particularly for a boy who had already seen the worst of it. At the ages that most adolescents learned about life and love, Jason learned to drive like a stuntman and kill with his bare hands.

No wonder he was confused about his feelings and orientation. The only woman his age was a sister to him. The only other women he saw were technicians, soldiers, and scientists, and he technically outranked a good number of them. His only close male friends were his 'brothers' on G-Force.

Confused by his feelings, and scared of what he might do if he were captured and tortured or raped. _And I'm supposed to help him? Them?_

At the airport lobby, Jason pulled up short. "Cronus."

He wasn't wearing the famous red flight suit, but only one man in the lobby could be the legendary leader of the Rangers.

Hollywood couldn't have cast an actor better suited for the role. A little over six feet tall, well-dressed, rakishly handsome with gold-toned skin and brown hair. He could have been waiting for a date, a Spectra attack or a pizza delivery for all the concern he showed. Only the way he balanced on his feet and his eyes took in everything gave him away.

Benson knew a dozen women who would kill to be here right now, and most of them were married. Hell, _she_ didn't mind being here right now.

He strode over and greeted Jason politely, as if the younger man were just another minor employee of Federation Security. "I wish to speak to Detective Benson," he said, after the introductions. With a properly-deferential manner, Jason took himself to another part of the lobby.

And why did he want to talk to her? "Yes, sir."

He led her outside, where it was just loud enough to cover their conversation from easy eavesdropping. "How are they?"

"Sir?"

"G-Force." He studied her, nodded. "You don't know. Peter didn't tell you. I know who they are. I know Jason is the Condor. I helped train them. How are they holding up?"

"Colonel, I can't tell you any details. I'm as bound as Dr. Huang by confidentiality."

"I know that." He looked across the tarmac, the stoic expression on his face saying more than words.

"They're doing the best they can. They have a way to go."

"I would be there, if I could. I have my duties."

His voice was not dramatic. No flourishes, no declamation. Very gentle, and even kind. She could imagine that voice reading a bedtime story to a child, or comforting a daughter whose boyfriend dumped her, not giving orders to soldiers. "They don't complain, sir."

"I was speaking to you, Detective. Peter Anderson is one of my best friends, and I love those kids as if they were mine."

"I understand the press of duty, Colonel. You can call me Olivia, if you want."

"Is there anything I can do for them?"

"Mark thinks you should kick his ass."

He laughed fondly. "For what reason?"

"I wanted him to talk to his teammates. I think they could benefit from a few group discussions. He agreed, but - couldn't do it."

"Mark cares a great deal for his teammates. Perhaps he cares a little too much in some ways. I've had to deal with the loss of men and women under my command. The closest he's ever come - Did they tell you about the killer flowers?"

"Princess did."

"Mark dumped the fuel from his plane onto the flowers when they were gathered at Cypress Cove. Princess might have been in one of them, and he didn't want to do it, but he had to, or so they thought at the time. They set the things on fire. He was so sure he'd killed her that he went into a funk.

"The team tried everything they could think of to bring him out, but of course they all thought she was dead. It's hard to buck up a teammate when you feel the same way. Peter sent me to talk to Mark. I smacked him around a bit when he refused to see sense." He raised his hands. "Nothing too violent. I wanted to shake him up. I wanted him to look for her, instead of moping."

"Did it work?" Apparently Mark thought so.

"I didn't think so. He's in love with her, which made her possible death worse for him. Maybe it prepared him for when she did finally contact him."

"He's so young." That still got to her.

"That's part of the problem for him. I earned my rank over the years. I learned on the job. I lost superiors, friends and comrades before I lost subordinates, friends, and comrades. Mark was given his rank because of personality assessments over the course of his life and training. Those of us who have years of experience were 'eased' into command by comparison."

No benefit of an older partner who could guide him. She'd been paired with experienced officers after the academy. The good ones shared their knowledge with her, protected her when appropriate, and let her find her own way the rest of the time. Mark didn't have that. And then he tried to deal with his feelings by himself. "I want them to talk to each other. How can I do that?"

"I don't know, Olivia. I don't think locking them in a room would do it. They'd probably sit quietly, or talk about everything except how they feel. Or pick the lock and leave."

There had been something in his face when talking about Mark. She had seen it more than a few times in her career. _Cronus isn't his real name, or else he didn't know until years later._ Mark was his son. "You could tell him a few things yourself, sir. Share _your_ experiences about your comrades and followers. I share my cases, and my experiences, but I don't lead my unit. I can't tell him what he needs to hear. You have that knowledge."

"But is he ready to listen? Peter tells me that your strategy is to let them come to you. They listen to you, then, he thinks."

"They've come back, so I know they do. I just don't know if it's helping at all. I'm better with an investigation to go along with the talk. A victim having a 2 am panic attack benefits from hearing that I have a lead, or just that we're still working the case. You could contact Mark, tell him you're available."

"I should do that." Cronus drew out his phone. "I will. Now. Before I lose my nerve." He flipped it open, and she took a few steps away.

Jason got her attention and tapped his wrist in the 'We have to go' gesture.

Apparently Cronus saw, since he finished his call and said, "Thank you, Olivia."

"You're welcome, sir." _And I would love to have your autograph to give Elliott's son. _The boy would be green with envy if he knew where she was.

* * *

In Manhattan, Dick Stabler looked up at the evening sky. He'd worked out where Dad's partner was. The same place as Dr. Huang. Helping G-Force.

His father tried to protect him as much as possible, but not in stupid ways. Not like his friends' parents, who too often tried to deny that bad people existed or that bad things happened.

Unlike his classmates, he'd known that Anderson was in real trouble. Dad had told him that the video wasn't a joke, or a spycam set by co-workers, or a leak by a scandal-monger. It was torture. Propaganda that was the more dangerous because it was true.

Then the news of the rescue. A month or so later, Dad came home, griped generally about his latest case, and how they were stuck because Huang had been yanked out before he could give them advice.

And now Olivia was gone, returning just long enough to testify in a trial.

He bet his father had figured it out, too.

* * *

"What did Cronus want?" Jason asked.

"To know how you all were doing."

"Did you tell him we're pathetic wimps? I mean, we are."

"You are not. You just don't know how to fight this type of battle. Few people do."

G2 snorted. "We're a bunch of cowards. You've been too polite to say it, and so has Huang, but you know we're hiding out as much as the Chief. He's as safe at Center Neptune as it's possible to be. We don't have to be there."

"You're supporting him, also." She was not going to feed Jason's self-anger.

"We're hiding. I just admitted it to myself. If we weren't hiding, I'd be racing. Princess would be at Jill's. Instead, we've only been back just often enough to keep people from figuring out that we're G-Force. I've been in two races. I usually manage more."

"If you're right, then that's all the more reason you and your teammates need to get all your fears into the open."

* * *

Tiny had been avoiding her. Benson decided to go to him.

He was tinkering with the _Phoenix_. If he'd been doing this for the past couple of months, there could not be anything left to adjust or repair.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, pulling up a chair.

Naturally, he put that to the test. It took about three hours before he decided that she wasn't bluffing.

After he put up his tools, he asked, "Hungry?"

"Yes."

In the team's ready room, he picked up three burgers that would have put McDonald's largest offerings to shame. "You may not believe this, but I have to eat this much," he said. "Something about my implant. My metabolism is pretty fast."

She could believe it. Over the years, she had met a variety of people. She could tell the difference between an overweight man and a muscular one. Tiny was built like a farm boy, and she was certain he would not remain on G-Force if he wasn't fit.

She had a salad.

When he finished eating, he said, "How's everyone?"

"Maybe you should ask them. I want you to talk to each other. I've been trying to get the others to do that."

"Good luck."

"How are you holding up?"

Silence. "Well, I'm scared. What happens to us if the Chief doesn't get better? I don't know if another boss will understand us so well. I don't want to be treated like just another soldier, or some sort of killing machine, or whatever. That could happen."

"And?"

"If it happens to me. I guess they're worried about that, too. I know you don't have to be pretty for this to happen."

She nodded.

"Damn it. I hate this. I hate this war. I hate that bastard and his sister. Why'd she have to go and do that? How can anyone be so mean?"

"I'd call 'mean' an understatement. It's about power. Who has it, and who doesn't. It's even the perception of power that's important. A rapist's influence doesn't end with the crime itself. This will affect all of you in one way or another for quite a while. Could be months, or could be years."

"And the longer we stay here, the more power we give her?"

"In a way. Unless you use the time to regroup." She'd told the same thing to the others, in other meetings. "I know it's tough to talk about this. I feel like I'm beating my head against a wall with saying this. You know it, and you won't do anything about it."

He didn't reply. What could he say?

"I know it's hard. Civilians have trouble, so I'm not surprised that you do, also. But you don't have the luxury of time. You've kept each other at bay for too long. Once Spectra shakes off the hackers, you'll be in action."

"I know."

That was the hell of it all. They knew what they had to do, and just could not bring themselves to do it. Too many feelings, too many fears, and the worry that they might learn things about each other that they (thought they) were better off not knowing.

This left Anderson. She wondered if she would have to chase him down.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Another damned nightmare. Anderson stared at the ceiling for a while, then said, "Screw it." Another visit to the gym. Get good and tired.

At least the nightmares weren't as common as they had been, when he'd wake up most nights of the week, expecting to feel Mala on him and hear her voice in his ear.

His shoulder had healed some time ago, so he could exhaust himself safely.

* * *

Frustration kept Benson from sleeping. Pig-headed kids. She understood why, and that was why she wanted to drag them into one room, kicking and screaming. Too many people having the same reservations and fears. Too many families that fell apart because they would not take the hard step. And those families weren't tasked with keeping an empire at bay.

Great. Time for her to tire herself into sleeping.

She grabbed her gym bag and headed out.

As she entered the gym, she heard someone else. Someone from another shift? There were days when she found it full, and others when it was empty. She wanted privacy. One other person was all right, though.

Anderson was kicking and punching the hell out of a floor-mounted target. It was obvious he'd been here a while. Sweat matted his longish brown hair, and his T-shirt clung to him like a second skin. The man was in pretty good shape. As Jason had said, worth looking at.

Physically strong. Had Mala succeeded, the psychological effect on the Federation's people would have been greater than if he had been the stereotypical, underdeveloped office wonk. Although people knew better, they still associated physical weakness with mental weakness. Some of the mentally and emotionally strongest people she knew had pipe-cleaners for limbs.

She had these thoughts while diligently looking at the wrist device to find another gym. Anderson might not appreciate the intrusion.

"Detective. Olivia."

Busted. "Hello, sir. I didn't mean to intrude."

He wiped away sweat, or tried to. A futile effort. "I've been avoiding you. I'm as bad as the team."

"Or you weren't ready." She was still willing to leave.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, right now. I just have to change."

"Take your time, sir."

He took a half-hour, with the shower, and his hair was still damp when he emerged. No suit. Dressed down in faded jeans and old casual shirt.

"My office."

A safe place for him.

Her first time in the office, she had been focused on him. She'd missed the coffee maker and the refrigerator. She wasn't surprised to see energy drinks, soft drinks, other beverages, and assorted snacks inside. No doubt he spent plenty of time in here, awake at all hours when Spectra or another threat appeared. "Would you like anything?" he asked, filling a glass with ice and getting water from a tap.

She checked the labels, and accepted orange juice. "This place must live off of sugar and caffeine."

"We try not to. Not good for us." He sat on the large couch. "But there are times when I need the jolt."

"How are you doing?"

"I had another nightmare." Anderson did not curl up. "When I have one, I have to move around. Go to the gym, or just walk."

"I heard." A number of women had mentioned meeting him in the middle of the night, and the way he would flinch away and even escape their presence. Benson knew that it was as much shame as fear that made him act that way.

"I'm captive again. Her captive. Her plaything. My own terror would wake me."

She knew what he meant. From experience.

"I used to have them several nights a week. Lately, I've gone days, even a week or so, between nightmares. But now, during them, I can move. I wake myself when I try to shove her off of me."

"That sounds like progress."

"I think so." He smiled. "Do I have you to thank for the women dressing more normally, now?"

"Thank them. I wasn't sure about it. I agreed that the bad clothing probably wasn't helping, but I could not help but worry."

He raised an eyebrow.

"They figured out that you weren't afraid of them. You were afraid of what you might do."

"I was. I am." He sighed, looked at the ceiling. "I know most of the women who work here. Some of them are friends as well as colleagues and subordinates. Others would like to be more, although they aren't obvious about it."

"Some of them mentioned that."

"I told Huang about this. A few times, when I was with a woman, I wanted to - well, take her. Just like that. When I told him, I'd been severely tempted at least twice. Since then, there was another bad moment." He shuddered.

"You never acted on the temptations." She didn't feel threatened right now.

"Fortunately."

"If I can be so nosy, why not?"

"That's not what I am, or who I am. I knew why I felt that way." His hands clenched. "It would have been Mala's victory. She took my control away from me. I want it back." He held up a hand. "I phrased that wrong. I obviously have it." A frown of concentration.

"You're aware of it, now. She made you aware of that part of yourself." _That has too many meanings._ Benson wished she was back in Manhattan, dealing with ordinary people. This mission was beyond her abilities. What had Huang been thinking?

"Thank you."

For what? An ambiguous statement that could mean anything?

Perhaps that was the point. He could take whatever meaning, and whatever comfort, he chose from it.

"I can barely think about sex without shuddering. She could be gentle, even playful, when the torture was over. Almost like a real lover. By the time G-Force found me, I was a mess from that. When I was in Medical, Princess had to keep talking just so that I wouldn't tense up or fight every time she or anyone else touched me.

"What Mala did was Torture 101. Isolate the victim from as much external influence as possible. Become the victim's sole source of security and companionship. I had no idea how much time passed. I was fed and watered through IV lines. I don't want to think what they did about waste elimination. Aside from the techs who hooked me up, she was my only company."

Sex as torture. She'd met her share of victims, but she could not think of any who had been the recipient of such expert attentions. The perpetrators had simply raped, beaten, and verbally abused their captives repeatedly, wearing them down to nothing. For those freaks, it had been all about power and control. For Mala, there was Spectra, and how her acts could further her brother's plans. Any pleasure was secondary.

"I had orgasms. I know I could not control that, but the fact that she could even arouse me - Agh. Yes, she used some weird ability of hers, but that doesn't matter, either."

"I know." That was the part the victims always had to deal with themselves. Everyone affected could ultimately work past the 'wrong place, wrong time', or the 'he seemed nice' parts of a rape, and learn to cope with knowing that fighting doesn't always work, and to deal with the feelings that come from the act itself. When the body betrays, the victim is alone.

"She was enjoying it sexually. Not the fact that she had me under her power, and could do whatever she wanted to me. I'm not a virgin. I've been with women. I know what an aroused, excited woman looks like, and I will swear that she was, at least once. She even told me that she enjoyed herself."

_Don't say anything. There has to be more. Mala's a professional. Even if she gets off on helplessness, there are other outlets for her._

"She uses sex as easily as she uses a gun. We've debriefed released captives. Every man who has survived Mala's personal attentions tells the same story: she's professional. For a lot of them, that was the ego-blow that broke them. They could not delude themselves that they were such studs that eventually she would change sides or release them.

"She could have been pretending, but I can't think why she would. It was too early for her to use that particular strategy.

"She said I would beg for her touch before the end of the week. I wasn't there, yet. I didn't want her hands on me at all. It wasn't time for that."

Everything Benson knew about torture and brainwashing she had picked up on the job. She knew that everyone had a breaking point. Anderson, with his knowledge and determination, could have held out for longer than Mala's estimate. Every day of delay brought the chance of rescue closer, yet that same delay meant despair when rescue never came. She could imagine the questions that filled his mind. Had he been moved while he slept? How long had he been captive? Was he in a room in a base, or was he in a spaceship? Would this be the day he broke? What would he do or say if he did break? Had he already broken? Where the hell was G-Force? Anybody? Had he been given up for dead? Had Federation Security simply changed the locks on the doors and windows and left him to die?

Rewarding him with her body was supposed to come when he had cooperated and done what she asked. The ultimate reward was intended (or implied) for after the victim had broken down.

If Anderson was right, and Mala was also using him for her personal sexual pleasure, that added another level of squick to his ordeal. To know or suspect that his torment was giving her that sort of pleasure would be a torture in itself. "Did you know or suspect that at the time?"

"I don't know. I was trying not to give her anything. Passive resistance. No speaking, no reactions of any sort. That took more effort than I had imagined. I just swore that I saw Mala's pleasure, and maybe I'm wrong. She could have been lying."

Every cop knew that one. What people actually saw and heard, and what they remembered, differed. _Rashomon_ wasn't just a movie. She had worked cases in which witnesses had told the truth, yet none of the statements agreed on anything except time of day and that something had happened. It was worse when time passed, and memories changed. The statement given ten minutes after police arrive goes in the record, and when the witness testifies in court six months later, _that_ memory can be so changed that the witness ends up charged with perjury.

"You could be wrong. And you could be right." Benson grinned. "Let's say you did see it. She wasn't lying. And let's say you ended up face to face with her again and she mentioned it. I know what would make me nuts if I were in her place."

"What?"

"You acting as if it never happened. That, as far you remember, she had treated you no differently than she had treated any other captive. Except for the cameras, of course."

His eyebrows rose, then he laughed. "It would, wouldn't it? Take that one little bit away from her. Make her doubt herself, if only a little. At the least, it would annoy her, even if she pretended otherwise."

Nothing they could do about the rest of it, except let time do its work. He would need that to forget how Mala had warped sex for him.

"Any hints on what to do about the rest of it? The way she messed up sex for me?"

"Just the cliché of time. It's always a matter of time. Time and support. Which you have plenty of, from what I can see." Nudge him a bit.

"It always comes down to that, doesn't it? For everything.

"I haven't been hiding down here the way people think. At least, not lately. Nor doing nothing. Spectra has been quiet. Hackers have been busy on their computers. We want to take advantage of that."

"Attack them. But that's not something that happens overnight." And there was always the chance that Spectra's own computer experts were successfully defending against the attacks from hackers. Z'ólt'ár could be waiting for an attack with carefully-laid traps. Perhaps they had the means to counter an attack without relying on computers. "And you can't go around telling people, because that would confirm what even the dimmest bulb on Spectra already suspects."

"Yes." Anderson got up and refilled his glass.

"I wasn't left high and dry. Friends called, offered their support, however much they fumbled. My former fiancée called."

"Fiancée?"

"Before G-Force, I was engaged. She could deal with just about anything for this war, except using children. We both realized that would be the elephant in the room." He cast a glance at her. "I know what you're thinking. I had a lot of the same thoughts at the time.

"At the start, there was me, Cronus, and others. We were the precursors of G-Force. And we got our asses handed to us. Cronus and I are the only survivors of the field team. Spectra has the resources and personnel to meet just about every conventional attack. This was the last straw for Federation Security. After much discussion, arguing, and sleepless nights, the G-Force project began. I was promoted to Chief of Federation Security, and tasked with making the project work. They trusted me with it because I had reservations, and refused to treat the team members as walking weapons and substitutes for existing forces."

And they had to keep all this secret to avoid the legal mess it would cause on Earth. She knew the ways that perverts and abusers would use the existence of G-Force for their ends, even though there was a world of difference between raping children and fighting Spectra. "They see you more as their father than their superior. I suppose you know that."

"It's a fine line that I walk. They had to be young children for the implants to work effectively. Human brains are not like computers. The individual neural connections are peculiar to each person, but the implants come with standardized connections. The younger the recipient, the better the interface between brain and implant. They still needed the guidance a parent could give them while they were training. This is not Sparta, where soldiers were raised from infancy. They were ordinary children, and we took their childhoods from them."

There are worse ways to lose childhood.

"You may have guessed that they did not attend regular schools. We didn't want any incidents with other children or parents. They were tutored and trained for years. So they never really had a chance to develop outside friends and interests."

"They each told me that they know each other so well they barely need to talk to each other. Which doesn't help when it comes time to deal with things like this."

"We tried to prepare them for what could happen to them during the war. As usual, it's one thing to learn about something in the classroom, and another thing to encounter it in real life."

"Especially when it takes a different form from what you expected."

"Quite."

"They need to talk to each other. According to Huang, every time he tried, he ended up with five people not talking at all."

"Sounds about right. I've banged my head against that wall a few times."

"But they need to. They're scared. They have to hear from you, and from each other. Clear things up. Last thing we need is for them to freeze during your planned attack, or while countering a Spectra attack"

"I agree. I think I know how to get them to talk."

_So do I: you start talking._

"If I start off, the others might open up."

"No costumes. They can't hide themselves."

"And you or Dr. Huang should be there. An outsider to make sure things don't get out of hand."

"No weapons, then."

"We're under water. They don't dare."

She chuckled. "Let us know when you arrange it. One of us has to survive to tell what happened."

"Very funny." But he smiled.

"I saw the interview with Kavanaugh. You wiped the floor with him."

"You should have heard what he said before he knew he wasn't transmitting. It's recorded."

"Bad?"

"He as good as said that I was not Mala's captive, with a rider that I was not as traumatized as I should be if I were actually assaulted." He shook his head. "I thought _Princess_ would tie him into knots. I swear I could hear Jason's anger."

"Ah. That explains some of what we've heard from the fake news and late night people." Benson smiled.

"He screwed himself," Anderson observed. "His right-wing buddies are backing off fast. Used to be he and Limbaugh were the ones nobody on the right wanted to anger. Now it's just Limbaugh."

She just bet. Attacking rape victims is a fast way back to obscurity. The episode would always be there to show what had led up to the fatal words. He could try to say that he had misspoken, but there was no doubt that his strategy had been to undermine Anderson's credibility, even before he made those remarks.

"I've been worried that I'll be removed. So far, President Kane and others have been able to keep anyone from making a decision either way."

"If they try, they'll have every victims' advocacy group on their backs," Benson said. "Good people haven't fought long and hard to remove the stigma from rape to let even government agencies get away with something like that. The only possible justification would be if you were incapable of carrying out your duties, and I don't see much sign of that. You're recovering. Maybe you can't obsess like you used to, but you are functioning."

"I hope you're right."

"So do I. And if anyone balks, let me give them the benefit of my expertise." Assuming anyone would listen. "Or we'll throw John Walsh at them."

"The Fiery Phoenix of victims' advocates," Anderson said. "Not my words. A reporter who saw the _Phoenix_ in action came up with that."

He was less tense than when they'd started talking. That was good. "May I change the subject?"

"To what?"

"Well, now that I'm a position to find out, I intend to have some of my questions answered about Spectra and Z'ólt'ár."

Another chuckle. "You and Huang both. Perhaps I should have someone put out a booklet. If it's not classified, I'll answer."

"Why the mask? That's what everyone asks."

"It's a cultural practice, as old as Spectra's civilization. The mask is the equivalent of a crown or headdress. Once a member of the ruling family attains the throne, he or she wears one at all times. The other members wear them in public. Only the children are seen unmasked, until they reach puberty."

"That makes Mala unusual, doesn't it?"

"We think it's because she's not full-blooded Spectran. The Luminous One decreed that she is as much a member of the royal family as Z'ólt'ár, but people must talk."

Remembering America's history of racism, she said, "They would say she was passing for full Spectran."

"Yes. The mask we see Z'ólt'ár wearing most often is not the full state mask. When he presides over a state function, he wears a mask that makes him look like an Asian deity went to Mardi Gras."

"Who or what is the Luminous Spirit?" She hadn't heard of it until a minute ago.

"The guiding force of Spectra. Their god, for lack of a better term. Probably an alien being."

Shades of Ancient Astronaut nonsense. "I'm sure you've tried to talk to the Emperor about this war."

"We did. You can imagine how that went."

"Mark told me their civilization is a million years old. We're all young whippersnappers by comparison."

"And they think most of the civilizations around here owe something to them. The Imperium has changed in size over the centuries, so it's possible that Spectrans, or others under their rule, _have_ settled on worlds now in the Federation. Time passed, and the people forgot."

"Mark also told me there was a eugenics policy in place?"

"Probably established for the same reason people try it on Earth. Foolish ideas about racial purity, or the superiority of one class over another, or that criminal behavior or poverty have genetic causes, or all of those. It worked too well.

"The other thing people don't know is that Spectra is dying. It's been sucked dry, so they're desperate."

"So why not find a new planet? One that isn't occupied? Or haven't they said?"

"There are peoples on this planet who feel that they are linked to the land they live on. Their gods gave it to them, or made them and their land at the same time. The Spectrans might think the same way."

In which case, they weren't moving. They would simply extort what they needed, or so it seemed to her. "Their strategy is interesting."

"We don't know why they haven't used conventional tactics. We're thankful they haven't."

* * *

"Damn." Z'ólt'ár made an obscene gesture at the stack of reports. Those human mongrels were _still_ causing trouble. How could they do that? How could a species that was barely upright when the Luminous One revealed Itself produce this sort of havoc? How could they keep sabotaging Spectra's computers?

_I keep underestimating these late-comers. They're not stupid. They're determined and angry. We hurt their big hero, and they desire revenge._

He didn't blame Mala for this. Human hackers had been testing Spectra since Earth joined the Federation. It was only a matter of time before an incident galvanized them. From what he understood of them, these weren't organized in any way. In some ways, it made their efforts less effective, since they could not strategize according to their strengths. On the other hand, it made them harder to fight. Rather than sending a counter-attack to a network, Spectra's cyber-warriors had to send many individual counter-attacks, which took time and resources away from hardening Spectra's systems.

_Why hasn't the Federation attacked? They don't need Anderson for that, or do they?_

Too bad that idiot Kavanaugh had gone overboard with Anderson. Terrans like him helped keep the subjects of the Imperium in line. As the humans said, 'Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.' And some humans were making it clear that they were _tei'ak'toh_.

Such as the ones attacking suspected Spectrans. It didn't matter that the Spectrans in questions were defectors. Humans had attacked and killed them. That was all the propagandists needed. That, and a quote or two from the twits.

Come to think of it, Mala was acting a bit odd lately. She did her job as well as ever, but there was something about her. He wondered what was going on. Still, if he needed to know, she would tell him.

Back to business. Spectra had to be ready for an attack. There were plenty of mecha with stand-alone computers, not linked to anything, and conventional trans-space radios could be used to coordinate. It was primitive, but an effective tactic. Unfortunately, it was also one that could fail before he could send reinforcements, if the Federation forces outnumbered or outgunned them.

Time to meet with the best tacticians of the Imperium and work out contingency plans.

Another thought came to him: the Federation would not expect an attack from Spectra now. Could they come up with a plan to make use of this?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Every once in a while, I wonder what you were thinking," Benson said to Huang. "I've felt out of my depth since I arrived."

"They tell me that you've helped them. I know their sessions with me are going better." Huang handed her a cup of coffee.

"I suppose you were right about my experience being helpful." She'd revisited some cases that she would have preferred to leave buried in memory. As long as those visits were for a good cause.

"Like them, you're in the field. I haven't been there in a while."

"And they made you feel it?"

"Not in so many words." He smiled. "I hear you're getting them together to talk things out."

"Well, you need a drinking buddy. We can share our failure over a couple of drinks." She looked around his quarters. Just like hers. "Anderson might be able to get things started if he talks first."

"_If_ he talks. Do you know how creepy it is to sit in a small room with five people who don't say a word?"

Perhaps they would talk. Keyop had come to her several times since their first meeting, trying to come to grips with not just what had happened to Anderson, but with the whole idea of rape. Sex, and talking about sex, didn't bother him (he was as annoying as any conventional 15-year-old boy on that score). His problem was with the perversion of sex into violence. He'd seen Princess with Mark, and knew about physical displays of affection. How could anyone take something so wonderful and make a weapon of it?

She had tried to explain, with her limited knowledge of physiology, that the human body wasn't put together like a computer or an engine. Even twins differed. Sometimes, interesting connections happened. In certain people, this meant they could take a positive thing and turn it into a negative thing.

Keyop, it turned out, knew quite a lot about physiology. He still didn't understand how someone could sexually abuse another. Small comfort, he said during one discussion, to know that others felt the same confusion.

At least he could talk about it, now. He had been startled and dismayed by what he had seen on the streaming video, to say the least. Anderson, helpless and tortured, was so outside his experience that he had not been able to cope. Seeing and thinking about it scared him so much that his mind went into overdrive and he couldn't talk or act.

Another thing he had trouble understanding was how people could think ill of rape victims. Here, his basic good nature and innocence played a role. No-one had taught him the 'virgin/whore' nonsense that made it difficult for so many people to handle sexual assault against women. For a boy in a team of superheroes, he was also remarkably free of ridiculous notions of masculinity.

"Maybe they'll surprise us." Benson hoped she was right.

* * *

The day of the meeting came. Chief Anderson called G-Force to one of the ready rooms. They were going to stay there until they talked, or Spectra attacked. No Birdstyle.

Benson and Huang took seats outside the grouping.

Anderson turned his chair around, sat and crossed his arms over the back. "You know why you're here." He faltered, closed his eyes, opened them.

"I don't know what you've told Olivia or Dr. Huang, but I can guess," he began. "You're scared. You don't know how you would fare if you were in my place. You think you might not be as strong as me.

"I was terrified. I knew you would come for me, but that wasn't much comfort while she was working me over." A light shudder. "I don't know if I have the words to adequately describe what she did to me, or how I felt. I knew that I could not let her, or anyone else, see me react. She would have taken advantage of the smallest sign of weakness.

"When you found me, I did not know what day it was, or how long she had tortured me. I don't know how much longer I would have held out. Like you, I don't know what shape I would have been in had it taken another day or two to find me." He put his head down. "Damn it."

Silence.

He raised his head and sat up. "I still have nightmares about it. They aren't as frequent as they were, thank God, but they're bad enough. I'm a prisoner because I was never rescued. Some of the dreams were so real that I would wonder if I was hallucinating being here. If I had broken and lost my mind."

Varying degrees of astonishment and concern rippled through G-Force. Princess shifted forward, one hand stretched towards him. Jason managed to stay in his chair. Tiny blew out a word. Mark's gaze darkened.

After a brief hesitation, Princess took Anderson's hand. He squeezed gently.

More silence, with plenty of shifting in seats, moving lips, and eyes darting around as the team members tried to determine who should speak next.

"I have nightmares, too," Mark admitted. "Mostly about Princess, but the rest of you have roles. Not very good ones." He sagged forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped so tightly that his fingers turned red. "We're helpless. I'm helpless. I can't do anything to help you. All I can do is watch while you suffer."

"What's happening?" Huang prodded.

"Torture, mostly sexual. Straightforward rape, sodomy, and variations of that, to all of us. Sometimes I'm a victim, sometimes I'm a helpless witness. Z'ólt'ár is there, and he's worse than we've ever experienced him. What he does to Princess is - I don't even look at _Playboy_ magazine, and I can imagine this stuff."

"You don't necessarily need experience for that," Benson said.

"Yeah, but what does it say about me?" Mark looked miserable.

"Nothing, really," Huang assured him. "These are your feelings. You're afraid, angry, and tense."

"The doc has a point," Jason said. "You aren't a weirdo. Every once in a while, the same sort of shit pops into my head, and I want to get in my car and drive until I can't go any farther." A fist clenched. "It scares me, too."

Coming from Jason, those words conveyed more than any longer speech.

"Sometimes, it's a bit like what the Chief went through. Rape with foreplay, and we're seduced by it."

"That was Mala's intent, with me," Anderson said. "To subvert me so that I would betray the Federation, or to at least break me. Lord knows how close she came. I don't."

Another round of silent waiting.

_We're going to be here all day_, Benson thought. No wonder they were in a ready room. Food and a restroom.

But then, this was new ground for G-Force. As Jason had said, they could face Spectra under any circumstances, but they had trouble facing themselves.

* * *

In Manhattan, the Tinirian Ambassador was reassuring ADA Cabot that her latest case was not going to develop into an interstellar incident.

A group of thugs had assaulted an embassy employee, Brenda Murray, a Martian citizen. Given that Mars had been independent for ten years, that made the attack on Murray an attack on an extraterrestrial. Since she worked at the Tinirian Embassy, this could easily become a media circus.

"We care about our people, including those who work for us," the Ambassador said. "At the same time, we aren't going to get on our - what is that term you use? - high horse about it. Those criminals don't deserve to be dignified by any expansion of charges."

"What does Ms. Murray say about that?" If she were reading his expression and body language correctly, Ambassador Torig Mahoral really was concerned about Murray. Cabot wished more employers were like that.

"She feels horribly guilty about causing us any trouble. I had to persuade her to press charges."

_And here I worried that I would have to explain to him why it would be difficult to prove a hate crime_. Murray was not abnormally thin, and she had trained extensively so that she could walk on Earth using simple canes or crutches. Nothing about her declared a non-Terran origin.

As opposed to the Tinirians, who had two thumbs on each hand (on opposite sides of their palms), oddly-colored hair, and less easily described features.

"A lot of victims feel that way, sir. She kept apologizing to the detectives for wasting their time. Is that the other reason for not wanting more charges?"

"No. I understand her feelings, but I won't encourage them. She's a good employee, and would be more effective if she were less self-effacing. She started at the embassy four months ago, and she's still learning her way around us. It's as I said: I see no reason to dignify their crime by attributing it to prejudice or xenophobia."

The suspects had not said anything about Murray being a Martian. It was simply 'wrong place at the wrong time' for her. Adding more charges would not help either the case or her.

* * *

Three hours after the meeting started, and no startling revelations had come. G-Force had shared with their fears with each other, but no apparent breakthroughs. They were currently staring at each other, the ceiling, the walls, and trying to think of what to say to each other.

Benson had expected this. _It's a start._

Now, if they could just keep going.

Huang tossed the ball: "Do any of you have any suggestions for a plan?"

* * *

Livingstone sat back in his chair. It was a never-ending fight to ensure that Anderson's torture remained off the Web. Aside from the inevitable First Amendment issues, there were too many who had saved the video. These oddballs put up snippets as soon as they were taken down. They claimed that people had the right to know, when all they were doing was feeding prurient interest. A few, seeing the uses to which the images were put, had stopped their contributions. Others just didn't care what sort of secondary or tertiary harm they did.

"Quanto Tobor Labs promise they'll have the new program ready any day now," Bailey said. "They're all idiots. I can't wait for the contract to come up for review."

"Any company that holds a reunion of their products is just weird," Livingstone agreed.

"How's it going?"

"Like a nightmare. Mala knows how to give unreturnable gifts. If Spectra has anything like Santa Claus, I'd hate to be on her list."

Both men had been to see the regular therapists. Unlike G-Force, they did not have secret identities to protect. They knew that outsiders had been called in. God willing, this was helping the team.

* * *

No good. Z'ólt'ár glared at the three-dimensional display. The number of mecha and spacecraft required for an effective, computer-less, invasion of the Federation was prohibitive. He might boast of the Imperium's military might, but it had limits. Time-warp could be accomplished with isolated computers, but even the smallest error would scatter their forces spatially and temporally. The last thing the Imperial fleet needed was to emerge from warp individually, over a period of time that would allow the enemy to lie in wait and capture or destroy each ship and mecha. Without the aid of interlinked computers to correct for errors, using only trans-space radio and standalones, regrouping would be difficult.

He had asked his tacticians if they could program ships and troops for insertion over individual planets or into solar systems. Each operation would be self-contained, to either take and secure as much territory, or to destroy as much enemy capacity, as possible before the local forces could organize and react.

Even if it ultimately failed as an invasion strategy, it would weaken and unnerve the Federation.

The tacticians demurred. The Federation wasn't as large as the Imperium, but it didn't have to devote resources to maintaining control over restive worlds. Imperium citizens only fought for Spectra because they were required to, and while they would not readily turn over their worlds to the Federation, they might not put up much fight when the ground-forces landed. By contrast, experience had shown that Federation citizens were willing to fight to the death, even against overwhelming odds. Earth had not surrendered when the Van Allen Belt was nearly destroyed, and had recovered fairly quickly afterwards.

Damn. Here was an opportunity, and no-one could think of a way to use it effectively. Even Mala's devious mind had failed.

It occurred to him that she had a very personal reason to ensure the success of an invasion. She hadn't said anything, yet, but he had his suspicions about her recent behavior.

There was also the possibility that the Federation was preparing an attack of its own. In that case, any force sent from Spectra would be a force not defending against a Federation assault. The same problems that would plague a Spectra fleet entering the Federation would plague any force trying to attack from the rear.

Perhaps the Luminous One had an idea. At the least, consulting It would lessen the severity of Its punishment if he displeased It. He might leave Its presence under his own power.

* * *

Superheroes in therapy. The result was not quite what Benson had expected.

Once Huang had asked about a plan, G-Force was on familiar ground. They knew that their plans were tentative, based on nothing more than probabilities of what might happen, but they were plans. Having them would ease their minds so that they could function.

And they seemed to enjoy coming up with them, even if a few pairs of legs crossed at various times. For a boy, Keyop was - creative - in his suggested uses for his favorite weapon. And it was _Princess_ who wanted the first set.

Benson glanced at Anderson. The Chief of Federation Security had a familiar 'What have I raised?' expression on his face, but it was admiration, not dismay, that put it there. She had seen both versions in her day.

_All of a sudden, I don't want out of here ASAP. I want to see how this turns out._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Now that G-Force had started talking to each other, the impromptu sessions were more relaxed. Benson had glimpses into the team's personalities that weren't entirely related to the assault on Anderson.

They started talking about renewing their usual activities, then Tiny put actions to words.

He decided to visit the Harpers. He hadn't wanted to, before. His former foster-family were good people, and he'd worried that their well-meant attempts at comfort would anger him.

"They aren't cruel," he told Benson, "just thoughtless sometimes. You know, while trying to cheer a widow or widower up, they'd probably ask about plans for the future. About what happened to the Chief, they wouldn't know what to say and talk around the subject. I didn't think I could take it."

"I understand." He must like them if he used their name. "I'm sure they do, even if they don't seem to."

"I've been away long enough," he said. "Thanks, Olivia."

"You're welcome. Enjoy yourself. That's my professional recommendation."

He grinned and gave her a quick hug before boarding the sub.

* * *

Captain Jack Harper met Tiny at the train station. "How long are you staying this time?" he asked, as if nothing were wrong.

"Three days. Duty calls."

"You can get a lot done in three days. How've you been?"

"I'm doing better."

"I've told everyone not to bug you with questions. I thought you had enough on your plate without that."

"Thank you."

"If you need anything, you just ask."

"Well, how about some of Ma's cooking?"

* * *

The ordinariness of the lunch conversation, as they discussed the business of fishing and the changes they would have to make to maintain the fisheries, was a balm for Tiny. After weeks of worry (about the Chief, about himself and his teammates, about Spectra), he could finally relax.

Oh, they had questions, he could see that. It was an effort for them to not talk around his problems. Tommy was young enough to be more concerned with grade school and his friends than anything else, so he provided an easy out for Tiny.

After lunch, he helped out on Jack's boats.

* * *

After Tiny returned, Jason entered two races and won both handily. The second race was televised on a cable channel, allowing everyone at Center Neptune to watch. When his car appeared on the screen, Benson recognized it from racing magazines she saw at the station. Well. People watched a member of G-Force in action and never knew it.

Viewer enthusiasm was infectious. By the time #2 crossed the finish line, she and Huang were cheering as loudly as Jason's colleagues. They caught each other's eye and sat down, grinning self-consciously.

Mark asked them, "How many people would want the autographs you can't collect?"

"Almost everyone in the NYPD and their families," Benson said.

"Same with the FBI," Huang admitted.

"What do you mean, 'almost everyone'?" Mock offense.

"Well, we don't know _everyone_ in the department or the FBI."

Mark chuckled. "Once Jason gets back, I'll go out flying. In a regular airplane. No Birdstyle."

* * *

There was an interruption in their leave schedule after Jason returned. Princess was sent on amission, and Keyop slipped out to follow her. Then the others went after him.

Benson didn't ask for details. Anderson said only that the team had gone to the Himalayas. When they returned, she heard Z'ólt'ár's name in passing. Whatever he was up to, they had foiled the plan.

* * *

Time travel. That was one way around the hackers, Anderson thought. Use the hazard of time warp space travel technology to advantage. Or had a Spectran mission gone wrong, and the infiltrators made use of their technology to establish a base?

Security teams had already moved into the Changu area to analyze the remains of the time machine and the base. They would have preliminary answers within a few weeks. In the meantime, Security and Federation military forces would be on watch for any other such incidents.

He looked at the clock. Three hours. He'd lost three hours just over the report from Changu.

From his gut came a complaint. He'd missed lunch.

* * *

A week after the end of the mission, Benson, Princess, and Keyop went to Manhattan. The detective had a bit of a shock when she saw their first destination.

_Jill's_ was the place she went when she wanted reassurance that teenagers and young adults really weren't going straight to hell. Princess and Keyop walked in as if they owned the place.

"Hey, Princess," Jill said. "Long time, no see."

"Been busy."

"I bet you have." She smiled at Benson, lowered her voice. "Hello, Detective."

She'd never flashed her badge, and tried not to talk shop, in this place. "How long have you known?"

"You and your handsome partner have 'detective' written all over you. And I read the paper."

Keyop opened a door under the serving counter and popped up on the other side. At Benson's raised eyebrows, Jill said, "Keeps him out of trouble. He has appropriate ID and works here part-time."

"I don't think I've been here while he was here."

Jill made a non-committal shrug. "Princess also works here part-time."

_She knows they're G-Force._ Benson ordered coffee.

* * *

An hour later, Detectives Goren and Eames took a table. Benson wasn't too surprised that Keyop stared at them. _He probably looked them up after I told him about Jo Gage kidnapping Eames. As long as he doesn't blow his cover by going over and talking to them._

Princess sat across from her, glanced at the newcomers. "Jill gets a lot of cops who want to renew their faith in human nature coming in here. Most of our customers are pretty decent folks."

"I told Keyop about those two. The parts that could be told."

The Swan studied the pair. "I don't think I'd want to be the fool who harmed either one of them. Not unless I had all my affairs in order and my will written out."

"And then you'd find yourself in a cell for life. Those two don't operate that way." As more than a few criminals could attest.

"It feels good to get out and around."

Whether G-Force had been hiding or not, they had thought so, and when it came out in the first group session, yet another weight had lifted from them. That had been an interesting week of revelations and reassurances.

Mark had told her, privately, that he'd had some talks with Cronus. Commanding officer to commanding officer. If he knew her role in the Colonel's outreach, he did not give any sign.

"It does." When you got right down to it, Center Neptune was another glorified tin can, this time under water. There were only so many fish parades one could watch before screaming. "Nobody says anything about Keyop working?"

"He has ID giving his age as 15. Technically, we just help out. When this war is over, I'll go into partnership with Jill. Something nice and normal after all the violence." A mischievous gleam in the green eyes. "Or I might become a bouncer."

That would be something to see. "Go with the restaurant."

Keyop, bearing a tray and beverages, scooted over to Goren and Eames.

Well, that was one way to get a good look. At least he didn't linger too long.

* * *

Benson sorted her mail, suddenly aware of how much junk she received. _I need a life_, she thought, hoisting the trash bag.

After dumping the trash, she met Princess and Keyop in Central Park. The boy was up to something, she thought. He had a glint in his eye that she recognized from the sons of her various partners.

* * *

2130 hours. Anderson headed for his quarters. He'd spent half the day working on the planned attack against Spectra, and the other half on regular duties. Not once had he felt nervous or afraid, and he hadn't felt odd around the women.

_I won't call myself cured, yet._ He knew that recovery was not a linear process. Neither he nor G-Force would be out of the woods for a while. There would be plenty of setbacks and relapses in the meantime. They knew that.

"AAUugghh!" Then: "_KEYOP!_" Princess.

Mark: "Better run! I think she means it!"

Jason: "_Go_, Keyop!"

Keyop, burbling happily, shot across the intersection. Princess, wearing nothing more than her nightgown, followed.

_He did not_. Anderson felt the smile come. And more.

Tiny: "Hey, catch it, guys!"

Jason: "I got it, I got it - I don't have it."

Mark: "Over here, over here!"

A collective 'Oof!' and Tiny asked, "Where did he find one of these at this time of the year?"

_He did._

_

* * *

_

Benson heard the ruckus and opened her door just as Keyop rushed past, Princess hot on his heels. Recalling a weeks-past mention of bugs and lizards, she headed towards G-Force's quarters just as a man's helpless laughter boomed.

Mark, Tiny, and Jason had separated out of a knot on the floor, Tiny holding an unhappy lizard. Chief Anderson slid down the wall, laughing with humor and fond familiarity. The three young men looked at each other, then collapsed into each other's arms with laughter (while Tiny kept custody of the lizard).

Benson grinned. Things were looking up.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Anderson remained the head of Federation Security. Wiser heads had prevailed over the past several months, and his work on the planned attack had convinced some of the last holdouts that he was still fit for duty.

His concerns about removal were not unreasonable. Chief of Federation Security was as much public relations as operational, and there are always those who think the PR is more important than the operations.

Many of the arguments used in the conferences had been used by Benson and Huang in their reports.

The public relations reasons made use of the fear of negative publicity. Removing Anderson would be a blow to past victims of sexual assault, not to mention future victims. It could set a bad example in the civilian world. If the Federation's chief of security can be forced to retire or leave a job, then why not any victim? Why should victims report the crimes if they will lose their jobs? Police can't investigate unreported sex crimes. How many people would suffer alone? How many criminals would never be punished?

Besides, removing Anderson served Spectra. A new head of Federation Security would need time to become familiar with the current projects and personnel. People would have to get used to him or her being in charge instead of Anderson. Right now, Anderson could bypass a dozen protocols and procedures, based entirely on his reputation. His successor would have to go through channels. Did they really want that during a Spectra attack, or during preparations to counterattack?

Remove Anderson, perhaps his successor becomes a victim. Then what? Remove the successor? Spectra could dedicate personnel to ensuring a near-constant turnover of high-ranking Federation officials, influencing the course of the war.

* * *

"He's recovering. They're all doing well," Huang said over coffee in her quarters. "We'll be out of here before another week passes."

"Then we can worry about undue Spectran interest in us." Assuming that agents could find out they were the ones assisting G-Force. There had to be a number of possible candidates. With any luck, there would be too many for Spectra to effectively investigate.

She didn't think they knew enough to make it worth Spectra's while to find them, yet one never knew. What could she and Huang reveal that a good profiler could not have deduced already? G-Force did not reveal their surnames (assuming the ones on record were their real ones), and aside from Jill's restaurant and any given race track, she had no idea where the team spent their off-duty time. But then, it was possible that she knew more than she thought. The right questions could elicit information she didn't realize she possessed. She and Elliott had done the same to numerous suspects and witnesses in the past.

"That's the risk. I'm on the hate lists of a few criminals because of my profiling work."

And she had been stalked in her day. Unhappy people were a hazard of the job.

* * *

Mala smiled and caressed her abdomen. So far, so good. No complications with her pregnancy, even with the in utero genetic engineering. Her son would be healthy, and he would be raised as befit a member of House nâl Afés'trin. At the right time, he would learn of the worthy adversary she had chosen for his sire.

"To judge by your face, all is still well." Z'ólt'ár crossed the room to her and felt for a kick. "You should have told me sooner."

"I wanted to be certain. You know the dangers." When she had finally told him, he had been pleased. "And how is your little mouse and her pup-to-be?" That _had_ been a surprise. She still hadn't found any other children he might have sired.

"Extremely pleased with herself. She's already planned which assassination techniques she will teach our daughter first."

"And which of your old toys have you brought out of storage, Brother?"

He blushed. "All of them." A smile. "It seems I _can_ do what needs to be done for my world and people."

"After a great deal of urging." She had also dug out her toys. "What will you name her?"

"There is a list. We're working on it. What are your plans?"

"I want to name him after Father. He began the renewal of our House and our world." So, he was giving Patricia a say in the naming? A non-Spectran? Things _had_ changed with him.

"He would be honored."

* * *

Benson and Huang prepared to leave Center Neptune and return to the world of ordinary people. The day before they were to leave, G-Force threw a small farewell party. Few alcoholic beverages, but plenty of personnel who wanted to thank the pair for their help.

"Don't let the lack of booze fool you," Jason said to her. "We do drink. Just not to excess. We only recently became legal in all 50 states." He held up a bottle. "Except Keyop."

Benson wasn't so sure about that. "Really?"

"You haven't been on the receiving end of the Chief's disappointment. If we could tactically deploy it, there would be peace throughout this part of the galaxy."

"What did you do with the lizard?"

"Keyop put it back where he found it."

Princess heard the last part. "I should have known he had something planned. At least it was a small lizard. From Earth." She chuckled. "If I told you some of what I've found in my room, you would call Dr. Huang to prescribe something for me. I don't mind that he collects insects and things. He has a nice collection of mounted butterflies, and would have a terrarium if we let him. What I mind is anticipating a nice, quiet night's sleep and finding an unwelcome guest, instead."

Sounded like a little brother. Benson had heard a few stories from partners about their children, besides seeing the results.

"Thanks for everything, Olivia."

"You're welcome. You know, you can call me if you need to."

It was similar with the others of G-Force. They were all on the way to recovery. Not there yet, but they would be.

Chief Anderson had been talking to some of his female colleagues. He made his excuses and joined her. "Thank you." Looking right at her, not hiding behind a social role or showing nervousness.

"I'm glad I could help."

* * *

Dr. Huang dropped her at her apartment building. Captain Cragen met her with the latest mail and her keys.

"Welcome back," he said, handing them over. "How was it?"

"Draining, especially for them. They were fighting their hardest battle."

"How about for you?"

"I felt out of my depth every other day. They fight cyborgs, aliens, robots and gigantic machines on a regular basis. They've trained for just about everything under the sun. For a while, it seemed I was up against a wall. I had nothing in common with them, or so I thought." She separated her mail.

"You had something to offer, or you'd have been back long ago." He had questions, and didn't want to veer into government secrets. "You're back on the roster Monday. I thought you'd like a few days to get used to New York again."

"Thank you, Captain."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Two weeks after Benson and Huang left Center Neptune, the planned attack against the Spectra Imperium launched. Federation forces destroyed or captured fifty-plus staging and supply bases on both sides of the border with the Empire. Imperial forces, hampered by the lack of interlinked computers for time-warp travel, had fought well, but been defeated or captured. Their isolation made them determined to fight back, but also meant they had no fallback positions where they could regroup, nor any chance of back-up or reinforcements.

G-Force, along with similar units, remained ready in case enemy ships appeared behind the lines. Desperate generals and captains might decide the risk of ending up elsewhen was worth the effort. If they died taking down a Federation ship or base, they would die heroes. Enough might turn the tide against the Federation. So far, no such attacks had occurred.

"Fifty bases. Not bad, but not enough," Jason said.

"We want to win this war, not conquer the Empire." Mark knew that would be a drain on the Federation. The Empire was too large. Better if Spectra sued for peace. The Federation would be spared the expense of occupation and administration, and could concentrate on keeping the extremists and 'Never say die' types from causing trouble.

That didn't keep him from wanting to see Z'ólt'ár and Mala captured and tried for their crimes. But not executed. That would make them heroes and martyrs, and inspire rebellion. Alive and punished was enough. They could remain figureheads as the government of Spectra changed. History showed what happened when civilizations were forced to change too quickly and radically. The social disintegration and cultural chaos were too high a price to pay for an 'acceptable leader.'

* * *

Two Spectran commodores risked their ships and crews attacking behind Federation lines. One took three ships to a planet orbiting Proxima Centauri, only to have them come out of warp in different centuries. All three would be captured, but nobody would know until it happened.

The other targeted the Federation Security building in Manhattan. News organizations had live feeds of the counter-attack by G-Force and drone planes. The drones played their usual role of intercepting the missiles fired by the Spectran ship.

Tiny jigged and jagged the _Phoenix_, annoying the mecha crew until they followed G-Force over the Hudson River. There, Jason broke it apart with a few well-aimed missiles. Most of the crew survived, and were captured by police or military as they made shore.

* * *

Of the fifty bases, the ones inside Federation space were taken over and re-garrisoned. Analysts went over every surviving inch of the remains, confirming or correcting previous knowledge about Spectra's operational capabilities and technology.

These operating and supply bases had been located on uninhabited worlds, to prevent discovery. While Spectra could, and did, put bases on inhabited worlds, these tended to be for espionage and sabotage, and completely self-contained.

Bases in Spectra Imperial territory were near cities that could provide labor and manufacturing support. Attacks on them were planned to minimize civilian casualties as much as possible. For whatever reason, the otherwise ruthless Z'ólt'ár (and previous Emperors) had not placed the bases under or in the middle of the cities. Still, urban sprawl and settlement patterns had placed enough non-combatants in harm's way to make casualties inevitable.

* * *

A little over nine months after Anderson's rescue, Federation Intelligence picked up two internal Imperial communications. Mala nâl Afés'trin had given birth to a boy, named after her father, Va'dõr'an. A week or so later, Z'ólt'ár's consort, Patricia Hayes, a human defector-turned-assassin, had a daughter, named Nir'aÿan, after a legendary empress.

Anderson, even as he hoped that he wasn't the father, researched legal avenues. Just in case.

He knew what some people would want to do. He knew that a purported 'rescue' would begin a messy propaganda war and be a sticking point in any future negotiations with Spectra. Whatever Mala's true plans for her child, she would be justified in calling it a kidnapping, and there would be many in the Federation who would see it the same way. Spectra could play the 'Mother deprived of her child' angle and make the Federation look hypocritical, not to mention that the implications of such an act would terrify parents throughout the Empire. A great reason to continue the fight.

Although he also wanted to get the boy out (if only because Va'dõr'an was a complete innocent), there was little reason to think the child in any danger. Mala was a member of the royal family and held high rank in Spectra's government and military. The pregnancy must have been expected (even intended), so she would not neglect or abuse him.

Still -

He sat conflicted, then reached for the phone.

* * *

The best Benson could offer was sympathy and the names of some people and organizations who might be able to help him deal with his emotions. "Most of the people in this situation are women," she said to Anderson. Because they had given birth.

"I find myself hoping I'm not the father. I don't know how I would react if I ever had proof of it. What happened was bad enough…. Oh, I'm sorry, Olivia. I forgot."

"Hey, I understand how you feel." She did. Her relationship with her mother had always been rocky because her father was a rapist. She knew her mother had not been able to look at her without being reminded of the attack, and doubted the feelings would be any different for a man in a similar situation. Other women in that position had similar feelings towards their children. And, in this case, the child was a potential heir to an enemy's throne. "I know you'll do the right thing."

"Doing the right thing isn't always easy," he admitted. "Thank you for listening.

* * *

The official Imperial announcement of the births made news in the Federation. Pundits held forth, and Jefferson Kavanaugh tried to use it for a comeback. Many urged that Mala's and Z'ólt'ár's obviously half-human children should be 'rescued.' After all, they were half-_human_. Others made the same points that Anderson had considered, and a few he had not.

_Well, now we know this wasn't false information to needle Anderson into ordering something foolish_, Benson thought. As if he would have done such.

As for 'rescue': during her police career, she had been involved in far too many custody disputes. Not all of them were clear-cut 'abusive parent vs non-abusive parent' cases (which could be resolved with proper investigation). Too many non-custodial (and a couple of custodial) parents, unwilling to accept court judgments, had kidnapped children, necessitating long searches. When they were found, there were the court battles and 'he said, she said' declarations, accusations of abuse, neglect and anything else that would get an edge with a judge and jury, and the children suffering through it all. There were the conflicts within multi-ethnic families, whether the members were foreign or American citizens, for various reasons. Those were even messier, as both parents might have valid reasons, based on their cultures, for claiming the children (assuming that neither one was merely being selfish).

This would be a custody dispute with interstellar ramifications. Spectra was a sovereign power, and at war with the Federation. Anderson might not have any legal recourse under Spectran law. Even if he did, without clear evidence that Va'dõr'an was abused, he dared not act. They really would have to wait and see.

"I know what I'd want to do," Stabler said, tossing aside the newspaper carrying the story. He shook his head. "Those idiots who second-guess Anderson don't have to think about the consequences of a bad call."

"They don't even think about how their words are used by Imperial propagandists, or what others in the Federation think." Kavanaugh was still stuck in his hole at the only radio station that would hire him. And, amazingly, there were a few female commentators who seemed to think Mala had struck a blow against male oppression, rather than carrying out her duties towards Spectra. Other women had their heads on straight, and condemned such thinking.

"I wonder if Z'ólt'ár laid a trap? If I were in his place, I'd prepare for someone playing hero. Just in case."

* * *

Which was another reason Anderson used when he forbade missions to 'rescue' the child who might be his son. Aside from the legal and political problems, he would not have anyone risk entering a trap.

Everyone in Federation Security knew that Chief Anderson was straightforward. There were no 'understandings' in his orders, no implied permission for disobedience. This was real life, not the movies or television. Anyone who went to Spectra was insubordinate, and would be punished upon return. If they survived.

* * *

So far, no covert missions. Z'ólt'ár hadn't expected Anderson to be so foolish or reckless, but there was always a chance that someone would try to rescue a child who did not need rescuing.

Just as well (at least for the intruder): Mala would kill anyone who tried to take Va'dõr'an. _And if she didn't, I would. No-one gets to our children without our permission._

Patricia, his 'little mouse', shared his feelings. Let an enemy get too close to the children, and she would wipe the nursery with the fool.

One of these children would be the next ruler of the Imperium. He knew who he preferred, but Va'dõr'an could just as easily be the heir. Assuming Anderson lived so long, his reaction would be interesting to see.

* * *

Seven months after the Federation attack on the Empire, Z'ólt'ár oversaw the destruction of Center Neptune. G-Force and Anderson escaped, along with at least half of the personnel.

Anyone with a brain knew the war was about to get hotter.


End file.
